


Not Gods, but Devils

by NobleZeda



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Achievement Hunter Heists, Action/Adventure, Adrenaline, Gods, Immortal Fake AH Crew, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-04-18 23:39:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 44,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4724513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobleZeda/pseuds/NobleZeda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael tried not to picture himself hot-wiring a getaway car, but it stubbornly played in the back of his mind like a song that he couldn't shake off. And it appealed to him.</p><p>"You're a fucking lunatic," Michael said resolutely. "You have, like, half an idea of how to successfully rob a place."</p><p>"Is that you offering to help me out?" Geoff asked, eyebrows raised. Michael was about to ask for time to think before a smart-ass remark rolled off his tongue. He couldn't even help it.</p><p>"You'd need an entire team's help in your case." Geoff, however, did not take it as lightly as Michael made it out to be. He stared back just as evenly, if not more so. His next words granted such a guarantee that Michael's need for adrenaline took over, and he knew he didn't stand a chance.</p><p>"I can take care of that."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the enforcer and the boss

**Author's Note:**

> Yoooooo, so this fic has been fairly well planned out and will update every Monday. It's not mavin-centric, but the relationship still has some very prevalent moments. It is very likely that I will rely on comments to keep going, so feel free to do that, and, also, if it catches your fancy, shoot me an ask on tumblr ( micoosboi.tumblr.com )
> 
> That's it for now, have fun reading, see you Monday <333333

Michael Jones's favorite type of story was the one where something impossible was pulled off. Bonus points if there were excessive explosions.

The need for a thrill was arguably the reason he became a cop in the first place. There was nothing in the world like a good adrenaline rush, except perhaps the feeling of coming off a good one. It was the detrimental core of him, and he didn't make a big secret of it. Just about everyone knew that about him.

So, when he walked into work, he didn't expect to be met by stares that could only be described as... curious. It was almost like the people he had known for years were suspicious of him, were trying to find something wrong with the fact he was there.

Even the janitor looked at him curiously.

"Something to look at, buddy?" Michael rooted himself to the spot, shoulders squared, staring the other man down. It wasn't that he didn't have respect for the janitorial branch of the world - it was this one in particular that was giving him a half-stink eye, half bewildered stare.

"Not at all, Deputy Chief," he replied, then looked at his hands over his mop like he was very unsure of them. "Deputy Chief..." he muttered, shaking his head absently and going back to his work. 

Michael, fucked off beyond reason for the event, kept walking into the main part of the building. He nearly slammed into the first person he met. She made a mad clutch for the extensive pile of folders she was carrying, just managing to keep them steady.

"Really, Michael?" she groaned. "You know my schedule. I have a routine, okay? I walk this same path every day. At least watch where you're going." She didn't look very angry, just annoyed. "Why were you talking to Adam, anyway? He makes an  _effort_ to not know who any of us are. I doubt he knows who the  _Sheriff_ is."

Michael, feeling very off-kilter, cocked his head. "Yeah, uh, sorry... Remind me of your name again?"

And now she just looked offended. "We've known each other for three years, Jones."

"Obviously."

"And you don't know my name?" she demanded, blinking hard, chin jutted backward in surprise and indignation. 

"I'm hitting a blank spot," Michael assured her, a total lie. Even though it  _wasn't_. He remembered being a part of long conversations, her included in the group, as far back as his first annual LSPD company picnic. He just, for the life of him, could not put a name on her face.

"Well," she said evenly, "it's  _Barbara_. Now, if you'll  _excuse me_ , I have an important meeting to get to." She swept past him, fuming in her disbelief. Michael could barely believe it himself. He found himself mouthing "Barbara" all the way to his desk.

And, yes, he loved being a cop. Los Santos was the crime capital of the country, which meant he used to be guaranteed a good car chase at least once a month. Now, however, he found himself doing far too much paperwork to counteract a pastime that was becoming scarcer and scarcer as he continued to ascend through the ranks at record speeds. It was almost annoying, being such a good cop. It used to be that nobody knew who he was, and he was free to do what he wanted. Now it was all responsibility instead of action, and he couldn't stand it.

His desk was his least favorite item in the world. It was lucky, really, that Demarais bolted inside almost as soon as Michael relaxed. 

"Sir," he gasped, eyes wide, "you need to see this."

He beckoned Michael outside, and Michael practically flew to the calling. Past the several rows of desks, all those that weren't abandoned being operated by officers on fervent telephone calls, Michael saw a crowd of his co-workers gathered around a flatscreen. Demarais led him straight to it, and Michael watched a helicopter view of what appeared to be a car chase - with a sickening feeling of delight.

"... _in breakneck pursuit of a fugitive leading several teams of officers down Los Santos Freeway. The driver of the stolen ambulance is reported to be Geoffrey Ramsey, a wanted criminal and suspect in the robbery of both Maze Bank and Vinewood Ammu-Nation. He is now accused of taking part in pre-meditated destruction of property to the city of Los Santos. This police chase has, so far, yielded two casualties and one non-fatal pile up on Los Santos Freeway_."

The news was presented by a woman dubbed 'Meg Turney', as the ticker announced. A similar ticker gave more information on Ramsey, though the only footage being shown was an ambulance screaming down the freeway. Michael didn't stick around to read it - he was already on his way out the door.

"Sir, wait!" Demarais yelled behind him.

"I'm the goddamn Deputy Chief, I can do what I want, Demarais!" Michael growled, already stepping back into the humid, outside air. He was in his cruiser in record time, lights blaring and hooking through streets, onto El Rancho Boulevard and then up San Andreas Avenue. He caught the ambulance on its return, and with a jerk of the steering wheel, he was right in its path, no way of swerving to avoid it - for either of them.

He didn't make any move to get out of the car. He turned his head, and for a split second, he and Ramsey made eye contact. And he saw that Ramsey understood his move. Michael's adrenaline was practically bursting through him in shock-like waves, egging him on, torturing him in the best way as he stared at down the ambulance hurtling straight for him-

There was the terrible, wrenching sound of metal meeting metal. Michael felt the horrible impact in every bone in his body. The car jolted, taking the brunt of the collision and skidding for several feet before it stopped again. The bright side was that the ambulance was out of commission.

Miraculously, Michael groaned. He pulled his head out of the passenger seat and stared around. There was glass in his head, in his car, in his bones. He saw his own blood splattered over his car, heard the deepest, most rigorous ringing that had ever clashed between his ears. The only thought that made its way in was  _I should not be alive_.

Which, of course, he had expected. And he was used to it.

Ever since the first time he had taken a bullet to the chest on duty, he had known that something about him was not right. Not at all. Roughly two years ago, he should have been put six feet under. And that was just the first time. Truth be told, one of Michael's worst habits was... waking up. After the fact. After a final gunshot or an explosion or - just once - a car dive off a cliff. He couldn't control it. He couldn't stop it. It just happened. 

For the most part, though, it seemed to take a few hours. And he was no doctor, but that crash should definitely have killed him, even for just a little while. 

Now, given the fact that he was still here, he was disconcerted. Was he getting stronger? More invulnerable? He already needed an explanation, why tack more problems onto his list? 

But he didn't have time to think about that. Judging by the string of curse words he was hearing from the driver's side of the ambulance, Ramsey had suffered no worse than he - somehow. Which meant that Michael still had a job to do.

It was utter agony to start moving again. He was usually unconscious for this part, but already he was feeling the effects of  _whatever_ made him different. He could see with his own eyes the glass being ejected from his skin. It fell to the ground around him, bloodstained, adding to the wreckage of the crash.

"Ramsey," he panted, throat strained, but his voice still carried. The shredded ambulance couldn't be more than two yards away - if Michael's door wasn't bent to hell, he would be there already. As he worked his way out, he drew his primary firearm. "You are under arrest. Fucking put your hands where I can see them."

Michael could just barely see inside, could make out a man with a thick mustache and blood sprayed everywhere. His windshield had remained intact, but the door window was shattered and scattered around the scene.

"I said put your hands where I can  _fucking_  see them!"

Michael was breathing hard, stepping forward warily, hearing the crunch of glass under his boots and the blood pounding through him. The adrenaline was hitting him hard, coasting through him, buzzing inside of him and making him acutely aware of everything, of the other cruisers screeching to a halt from the other direction, of Ramsey's labored, heaving breaths.

And then, Ramsey spoke hoarsely. "You're not getting me today, you fuckers."

Michael saw the grenade he was holding just in time. He looked at the other officers and screamed, " _Get back_!" at the top of his lungs, shredding something  _else_ , and then there was a whole lot of heat and light and noise and...

...And he realized that  _this time_ he  _had_ died.

 

\+ + +

 

True to tradition, Michael found himself blinking awake in the sunset. His revitalized body felt better than it did after a normal wake up, and he jumped to his feet, anxious to get his bearings - and slightly woozy, because that had been one  _hell_ of an impact. He had been caught in explosions before, but never at  _ground zero_. Damn. Ramsey had had some  _kick_.

Michael understood why he wanted to go out with a bang.

Except...

Knowing that his senses weren't betraying him, Michael slowly spun around. There, lying on his back like a starfish, exposed to the world, covered in tattoos, Ramsey lay. His eyes were closed, his mouth open - he was  _snoring_?

Michael went to draw his gun but found only the unscarred skin of his hip. It was a good thing they were in an alleyway, but also very bad, because here was Michael, stuck in  _an alleyway_. With  _no clothes on_. And  _a terrorist_.

This revival definitely took the cake for  _weirdest so far_. 

Just as Michael was trying to decide what to do, Ramsey began to stir. Michael went for the nearest weapon he could find, a splintered piece of wood no more than a half-inch in width, maybe a foot and a half in length. He held it like a bat, watching Ramsey carefully. All Ramsey did was sit up, rubbing his head.

When he saw Michael, he froze. And then he started laughing.

"What, are you going to _splinter_ me to death? Good luck." He snorted, then rubbed at his cheeks like he was just waking up from a nap.

"This doesn't change anything," Michael said firmly. "You're coming downtown, Ramsey. I don't know what the fuck you are, or how you survived that-"

"What the fuck  _we_ are," Ramsey corrected lazily. He pulled his hand away from his face, then looked at Michael like he expected him to know everything. He was infuriatingly calm, making Michael look like just some asshole with a stick. "Knew I would run into someone else like me eventually. Pretty annoying that you're a  _cop_ though. Are we gonna have to become arch enemies now, because let me tell you, I  _really_ don't have the energy for that."

"You clearly don't have a solid grasp on the phrase 'right to remain silent', do you?" Michael asked, almost rhetorically.

"I don't need it," Ramsey said simply, and he hopped up. "I'm not going to be arrested. Not today, at the very least. Probably not ever, but definitely not today."

Michael stared at him, trying to make sure Ramsey could see the weapon in his hand, and that he was braced to attack. "What makes you say that?" he ground out, blinking.

Ramsey sighed heavily. "Can I get a drink before we start this?"

Michael frowned, his temper flaring. " _No,_ you can not get a drink. You're coming with me, to the police department, right now." Michael spoke slowly, just in case the blast had done something to Ramsey's brain, which definitely seemed the case.

"Oh, of course," Ramsey relented. "Sorry, right, right. I must have forgotten about how we're both _blocks_ away from the police department, completely naked, and you have nothing to fight me with except for a fucking twig.  _And_ we can't die. My bad." Michael caught every ounce of sarcasm that Ramsey poured into his words.

"Doesn't matter," Michael assured him. "I'm bringing you down."

"Tell you what," Ramsey sighed. "I'm sick of looking at your dick, you must be feeling very inferior with all that time staring at mine. I'm  _busting_ for a drink. Let me treat you to bevs for  _fifteen_ minutes, and if you don't want to fully convert to Geoff-ism, I will hold your hand all the way to the goddamn prison."

"We're naked, we're not going for drinks anywhere. I'm taking you where you belong - custody," Michael said deliberately. He was still clutching the stick, though he didn't know why.

"Yeah. Charming. I'm telling you now, this is the only chance you're ever going to have to get me behind bars." Ramsey regarded him point blank. And Michael believed him.

He dropped the stick and it clattered noisily as it hit. "We're going to need to get some clothes," he said stiffly. He stood straight and walked up to Ramsey, who looked like he had just spotted checkmate halfway through the game. Michael refused to believe he had.

"I know a guy."

Of course, that  _guy_ turned out to be halfway across the city. Michael hissed his disapproval for close to twenty minutes as they dodged through alleyways and dimly lit passes. It helped that the sun was setting, and that most people were indoors after the day's events anyway. Once they hot wired a car, things went a lot easier. It was, after all, for the great good, Michael convinced himself. One stolen car for Ramsey behind bars. And, of course, he would return it.

It didn't give him any adrenaline. None. It was run-of-the-mill stuff.

"You alright there, buddy?" Ramsey asked. Michael wasn't sure how much he trusted him to drive, but there wasn't really another choice, so he gritted his teeth and fought the urge to attack.

"I'm not your buddy," he snapped immediately. Ramsey gave a low whistle.

"Touchy."

"When do we get there?" Michael demanded, clenching his fists.

"One minute," Ramsey assured him. "Left turn, halfway down the road. We pull into the parking lot and knock twice on the back door. He'll have some clothes for us, I guarantee it."

It happened exactly as he said it would. Night had properly fallen at that point, so Michael wasn't as uncomfortable as he would have been under any other circumstances, being naked and going out for drinks with a known fugitive and whatnot. They stood at the back door, waiting, for almost a whole minute. Michael was sure bugs were crawling all over him, and he wasn't positive his balls weren't freezing off. He knew he couldn't die, but he wasn't so sure they would come back next time.

The door opened with a squeaky whine, and a tall man with a beard and glasses greeted them.

"Jack Pattillo, my saving grace in times of trouble," Ramsey greeted sweetly. The man - Jack - raised an eyebrow.

"What do you want, Geoff?" he asked, but he also looked pleased to see him. "And, Christ, could you warn a guy when you don't have pants on?"

"Jack, I don't have pants on," Ramsey deadpanned. "Can we come in so that we may get pants on, and, more importantly, so that we may drink?" At the key word 'we' Jack looked back at Michael, eyes carefully averted to his face.

"Who's this?" he asked, looking at Michael but obviously speaking to Ramsey.

"A friend," Ramsey let. He paused, then gave a small nod as he added, "For now."

Jack looked suspicious but satisfied and stepped aside. Ramsey led the way, ducking past him and into a room that looked to be some sort of storage closet. There were beers and whiskeys and gins of all sorts, and Michael might have been imagining it, but he could swear he felt his dick give a small twitch. Ramsey's sigh of relief - like a man who had just climbed Everest, now taking in the view - was a mutual feeling.

"It must have been a messy one this time," Jack commented, and it was obviously meant for Ramsey once more. Michael moved along in line, in front of Jack but behind Ramsey.

"A grenade," Ramsey confirmed, and he almost had the grace to sound like he felt bad about it.

"And you've found another one?" Jack pressed, shepherding them along the passageway.

"Yep. And he's a cop," Ramsey said, annoyed.

"A cop?" Jack repeated, and Michael didn't miss out on either the surprise or the fear in his voice. He half wanted to turn around and cuss him out before realizing that this man was his closest, most shameless way to a pair of pants.

"Like I said before," Ramsey declared. "For now."

Michael rolled his eyes. "You really think you can brainwash me that easily?" he asked. "There isn't a single thing you could say to me that could make me want to  _join_ you, or whatever the hell you have in mind."

Neither Jack nor Ramsey spoke after that. Luckily, they reached another door, which opened onto a staircase. Michael could hear the dulcet sounds of a crowded room from somewhere, but clearly not where they were headed.

Thankfully.

"The key is under the mat," Jack informed Ramsey. Michael turned his head and stared vehemently at the wall as the fugitive bent down and retrieved it, then looked back when he heard the click of the door finally unlocking. This door squeaked as well, though it was a much calmer squeak than the one that led outside.

Ramsey walked in and flicked on a light switch, tossing the key to the side. Clearly, he had done this before. Michael followed suit, stepping off to the side for Jack as soon as he could. He took in the room about them, which seemed to be a cozy apartment. So, a man who ran a bar and lived on the second floor. Not a bad life. Thinking about his current state, Michael probably wouldn't turn it down.

"I'll be right back," their host said, then made his way to a door on the other side of the living room. There was a sofa, a television, and several pictures hung around the room. It felt homey.

"So, asshole," Michael said, turning to Ramsey, "what was it that you wanted to t-"

"Shhhhhh," Ramsey hushed, eyes closed. "Drinks before anything else. Or, pants, I guess. But pants lead to drinks, so it doesn't really count. Take a moment to get yourself together. Revel in your last few moments as a cop, with loyalty and honor and shit. We're going to scrap about half of that tonight, if you've got a sensible bone in your body.

Michael stared at him warily for a moment, but then Jack entered the room again, carrying the two most beautiful pairs of pants Michael had ever seen in his life. He handed one to Ramsey and one to Michael, who discovered that there was also a t shirt included. They would both be very large on him, but it was better than literally displaying his junk for the entire world. It was a good thing Michael had no shame, or he would have probably suffered from spontaneous combustion while back. And then woken up.

Ramsey and Michael dressed quickly, and Michael was a little bit irritated that he had to be reminded of his manners by a criminal. He thanked Jack just after Ramsey, and Jack escorted them both back downstairs.

"You can sit anywhere you like. Geoff, I'll bring you the usual. And...? What'll you have, on the house since you're a friend?" Jack asked Michael. Michael felt a little bad that he was taking a free drink and arresting this guy's friend in the same night. But not bad enough to turn down a whiskey.

They found a table and sat across from each other, Michael sizing up Ramsey. Ramsey's guard - as far as Michael could tell - was completely down around his ankles. Michael was too glad that they were finally wearing clothes to be very worried about it.

"So, is there a name I can call you, or...?" Ramsey asked. 

"Michael."

"Michael...?"

"Michael."

Ramsey cleared his throat and leaned forward in his chair slightly. "Well, glad to meet you, Michael Michael. Call me Geoff," he insisted. "Are you as confused as I am about everything in your entire life?"

Michael found himself too caught off guard to answer. Which was ridiculous. They had only  _exchanged names_. And, yet, Michael found himself justifying the conversation. He was looking at Ramsey, and  _not seeing a bad guy_. It was so jarring that Michael was speechless. Ramsey looked thrilled.

"What the hell are you doing?" Michael demanded lowly. "Are you... are we... some kind of...?"

"I have absolutely no idea, Michael," Ramsey assured him, just as Jack came along with a couple of drinks for either of them. Michael downed his whiskey with the humblest of thanks, and Jack bustled off to attend to more customers. Which, Michael granted, was a fairly good excuse. The place was oddly packed with a variety of curious characters - one man in the corner was even openly polishing a pink gun...

"So," Michael began again, and he turned back to Geoff, "we're the same. Just... opposite ends of the spectrum? You chose crime, I chose putting bastards like you away."

Geoff put a hand over his heart. "Michael, you wound me with your words," he said quietly. "You won't be calling me a bastard a week from now."

Jack returned with another whiskey, just in time to interject, " _I_ still call you a bastard, Geoff, and I've known you for over ten years, you bastard. Michael, did I overheard? Good luck trying to worm away from him. I don't know how he does it."

"Does what?" Michael demanded.

"Makes people like him and listen to him," Jack supplied, shrugging, and walked away again.

"I'll drink to that," Geoff cheered. He took a long sip, then finally gave Michael his full attention. "The thing about us is, I have no fucking clue how many of us there are, or if we're the only ones, or if we're supposed to join each other or kill each other. I just know what I saw today."

"What, the flashing lights of all those cop cars chasing you?" Michael asked. Geoff hummed in appreciation of the half-joke. Meanwhile, Michael could barely believe he'd just made a joke about that.

"What I saw today," Geoff continued, almost solemnly as he took another sip, "was a guy who needs some adventure in his life. You drove that car  _right_ in front of me, and you didn't give a damn about the consequences - I was confused as hell about why, but now I get it. And then,  _fucking and then_ , you stood at the heart of an explosion. Any sensible dickhead would've torn ass to get out of there. That's what I expected. What I did  _not_ expect was to wake up next to you in that alleyway." Geoff was suddenly overcome with giggles once more, and he quietly muttered, "You and that fucking twig..." _  
_

"Listen, buddy. I have plenty of adventure in my life," Michael growled. "I don't need people like-"

"That's not what I saw today," Geoff said simply. He leaned back in his chair, shrugging. "You remember that moment we made eye contact? Just before the crash? I fucking saw it. You were in your goddamned element, like a man starved at a buffet. I will make you one promise, here and now, Michael. If you come with me, you will never be bored again."

Michael stared at him, gaze hard.

He flashed back to his encounters of that morning. Barbara and Demarais and Joel. Who were they, really, even? They were the kind of people who were cut out for a life behind a desk as often as behind the wheel. Michael wasn't. He craved the adrenaline and suspense of a getaway chase. His morals had always been loose, but never  _this_ loose. Or, at least, he thought he had always been stronger, would have been able to resist Geoff blowing on him and knocking down his resolve.

Michael had the strong feeling that if he was looking at anybody else in the world, he wouldn't even be considering it.

Geoff spoke again, quietly, seriously. "You and I, whatever we are, are one of a kind. We either stick together, or we duke it out, try to find a way to kill each other. Either way, one of us comes out on top. I'm trying to make it a win-win situation. If we stick together, we're that much closer to figuring it out."

And Michael stared some more. He tried not to picture himself hot-wiring a getaway car, but it stubbornly played in the back of his mind like a song that he couldn't shake off. And it appealed to him.

"You're a fucking lunatic," Michael said resolutely. "You have, like, half an idea of how to successfully rob a place."

"Is that you offering to help me out?" Geoff asked, eyebrows raised. Michael was about to ask for time to think before a smart-ass remark rolled off his tongue. He couldn't even help it.

"You'd need an entire  _team's_ help in your case." Geoff, however, did not take it as lightly as Michael made it out to be. He stared back just as evenly, if not more so. His next words granted such a guarantee that Michael's need for adrenaline took over, and he knew he didn't stand a chance.

"I can take care of that."


	2. the havoc

The most annoying thing about being dead was that everybody expected Michael not to show up to work. He had been in situations like this before - a daring escape from a fugitive or a carefully planned sacrifice. The first time it had happened, everyone in the office had nearly had a heart attack. Naturally.

After careful explanation, they seemed to buy it. Michael's partner, at Michael's order, had run off in pursuit of their quarry - that much was the truth. The lie began when he told them all that a civilian had stumbled upon Michael bleeding out in an alleyway and driven him to the hospital after learning that no ambulance could make it to him in time. There had been a miraculous surgery and a full recovery.

Which, of course, was the most bullshit lie Michael had ever told at the time. What had really happened was him waking up, dazed and alone with a bullet on the ground next to him. He had looked down at a hole in his shirt and a completely scar-free chest. Naturally.

But, he couldn't just not show up to work again, and he couldn't explain away a miracle like that as something so unbelievable. And so, as far as they knew, it happened how he said it. As far as everyone else was aware, he paid back a great debt to the citizen on the weekends.

Explosions were harder to explain. He usually preferred to tell them that he had found cover, but sometimes, he had to get more creative. They would believe almost anything he said to them, whether it be jumping from a building to avoid the carnage, or that they hadn't seen him run into the room at all, he had been somewhere else entirely, a piece of the roof had collapsed on him and knocked him out for several hours. It was just a matter of waiting for the right time to walk back in the door with a thrilling story.

All of this is to say that Michael Jones, unfortunately, could not talk his way out of this one.

Too many people had seen him at the very heart of the explosion. The footage of him crashing the ambulance was going viral worldwide. To all the world, LSPD Deputy Chief Michael Jones was dead and gone, not a body or a widow to leave behind. It wasn't terribly convenient.

Geoff seemed to think it was awfully amusing. Given the fact that Michael could no more arrest him than he could shake him off his damn ankle, Geoff took to sticking around the guy more and more. Within a week, he was crashing on Michael's couch.

Strangely, Michael didn't mind as much as he should have. Granted, most of their conversations went, "Get your foot off my table, asshole." "Respect your elders, kid." or, "I'm hungry as dicks, what do you have to eat?" "Nothing, considering you keep stealing all of my _fucking food_." or, "Turn up the television, Michael Michael." "I'm nobody's cop, but I'm also nobody's slave, prick. Turn up the damn television yourself."

It was like having a friend.

Michael didn't hate it but he didn't love it. Mostly, he assumed that Geoff had nowhere else to go. He didn't know where Geoff had been living before this and he didn't ask. He also didn't know where Geoff disappeared to for random, different hours every day. He didn't ask about that either.

The only question he would ever ask was, "Anything yet?"

Geoff always knew exactly what that meant. He would check his phone every time to be certain, taking just long enough for Michael's hopeful curiosities to be piqued, before infallibly replying, "Nope" and looking both disappointed and bored. The two of them would then slink back and think about what was happening to their lives under the guise of watching TV.

They both knew that Michael was mainly keeping Geoff around because he was waiting to see if anything discussed in their meeting would come to fruition. There weren't a lot of career options for dead guys, and with Michael's criteria for adventure, plus the budding friendship between them (forced by the fact that neither of them could die), Geoff-ism seemed about the only way to go.

But, if Geoff's contact kept them waiting at their current rate, Michael was going to lose patience very quickly. And then, well, he'd just have to figure something out. Maybe he  _would_ take Geoff up on that offer of rivalry.

 _Also_ , Michael had taken to having long naps in the afternoon, sheerly because he had absolutely nothing better to do, and it was making him antsy.

He got back from shopping fifteen minutes later than usual that day, such that Geoff had arrived home before him, even though they had left at roughly the same time. He was plugging away his time on the XBox, and barely turned to look when he heard the door open and shut.

"Anything?" Michael asked, almost without thinking. He kicked his shoes off in the doorway and moved to the conjoined kitchen of his apartment so that the could put away the groceries that needed to be refrigerated. It was lucky his 80-year-old landlord hadn't caught onto the fact that his tenant was supposed to be dead. 

"Nope," Geoff huffed. Michael felt a spark of rage flare in him for a second before it settled into his usual neutral-rage. Most of the things that irritated him burned bright first, flickered, and then receded dully back into the pit of his stomach to fester for hours on end. Michael liked being angry. It was a part of who he was, and, as much of a juxtaposition as it sounded, he was happy that way.

"If this fucker doesn't get back to you by the end of the week, we're going to have to fucking talk about this," Michael growled. He shut the fridge so harshly that it rattled. "Don't disturb me."

He padded angrily across the floor to his room, slamming the door behind him and flopping on the bed. It was a struggle to get his jacket off as he lay there, but he didn't feel like getting up again, not in this mood. The room was stuffy, and his head felt foggy, but he worked past it and eventually drifted to sleep.

And then the dream popped up.

It was like a hit or miss TV connection - either there or not, flickering between coherency and static. The first few times it appeared, it immediately disappeared. Michael became completely aware of the fact that he was dreaming.

What he saw was a woman. He had never seen her before in his life, but at the same time, a dull ache within his chest informed him that they were familiar with each other. She showed up again, the image like a flame trying to light in heavy wind. He caught red hair and wide eyes.

And then, quite suddenly, he saw all of her, and much more.

She was just about the same height as he was, and she stared at him intently. But now, it was less like Michael was looking at her, and more like they were standing in the same room, which, wow. It was probably seventy feet to the ceiling, a circular sky-light that exposed very few stars. The entire room appeared to be carved in shining, golden metal that didn't look like it came from anywhere on Earth. There were immense, ten-foot windows carved into the round, converging walls, beyond which Michael could see a terrifying, black void, holding nothing but a few pinpricks of light. Michael spun in a circle, mouth fallen open, staring around him.

"We don't have time for this right now, I need you to pay attention," the woman snapped. Michael spun to face her at the intensity of her words. Her eyes were roaming over him, over his face, trying to take him in. She was wearing dark armor - or, rather, that was how it appeared to Michael. It resembled leather closely, but at the same time, made it glaringly obvious that it was not leather. It blended in seamless straps around her, and shone in the light of the room. Michael had never seen something as beautiful as this. "You don't remember me or any of this - I expected that. But, I need you to listen to me carefully."

"Who ar-"

"Talking is not listening, Michael," she cut off.  "Nod so I know you're listening."

Michael forced himself to look at her face, feeling her own fear at their press for time, and nodded.

"Good. There's a lot that I can't tell you yet, just because of how little time we have. If Gus finds out-" she cut herself off, clearly prioritizing as she went. She spoke very quickly. "It doesn't matter. Anyway, clearly, you've noticed that something is off. Your life, who you are - it isn't right. You don't know the people you thought you knew, you're talking to complete strangers, you're lost and confused and angry. I get it. It's because you _don't_ belong in that world, and I think you know it.

"I wasn't sure that I'd be able to reach you. Long distance communication is not my thing, and I don't trust anybody else to hook me up. It's taken me a while, and I couldn't get to you before now because your guard was always up. It's only when you're sleeping that I can contact you, for a lot of complicated, logical reasons, I promise. I'm just not going to explain them right now."

"What are you-"

"Back on track, I know, sorry. Like I said, there's a lot. Okay, so, Geoff? Him? Yeah, you can trust him. He's one of the best, and I use this next term loosely, people on that planet for you to be around."

" _One_ of the-"

"Yes, shut up. There are six of you. You need to find six of you," she explained briskly. "The Havoc, The Vagabond, The Catalyst, and The Hitman are who you have left. They're somewhere in your realm, under different names, mortal names. They're your true friends, Michael, the only people you can trust. You have to find them, and then you can get your memories back. If you get your memories back, I might be able to make an appeal to bring you home. You have to find your friends, Michael, okay?"

She paused from her very quick speaking, and Michael thought it might be a brilliant idea to try to insert himself into the conversation again. "How do you know all this?"

For the first time, she smiled. It was warm and sympathetic and made him feel like he didn't need to be lonely. It was like a feeling of nostalgia with no memories attached whatsoever. She smiled, and he felt the overwhelming relation to a child who was just told that everything was going to be okay. He believed her. What was more, he knew that, in whatever memories he had apparently lost, they were close.

"Because they're my friends, too, and I want what's best for them. For you all. I want to get you back home, where you belong." She gave a very nice beat where she smiled again before tacking on, "And besides, you only caused one  _small_ war, hardly enough to be punished  _that bad_ -"

As abruptly as he had fallen asleep, Michael was torn from it. Whatever connection he had had to whoever that was - her name, her  _name_ , what was it,  _fuck_ \- was cut violently at the middle, and Michael was left pulling himself up to his elbows before he was fully conscious. Geoff was at his bedroom door, holding up a phone and crowing victoriously.

" _Geoff, what the f-_ "

"He got back to me, he got back to me, he finally got back to me!" Geoff sang giddily, doing something that was between a hop and a dance in the doorway. He shoved his phone under Michael's nose, then waited patiently for Michael to grab his glasses from the bedside table before he could read it. 

_You got lucky. I'm in the states now on business, you pleb. Lost my phone in a taxi, though. Right bloody mess it was. Meet for bevs in two hours, we'll talk, yeah? Gav_

"This is the guy you-"

"It's him!" Geoff practically yelled, and wow was Michael sick of getting cut off, awake or not. "He wants to meet the both of us, so shower, brush your teeth, comb your hair, pluck your toe fungus, and get the fuck ready, lad."

"Fine, get out," Michael ordered. "I was in the middle of something important." He could feel himself seething, not the usual kind of anger where it swelled up and quickly left. This one was rushing through him like acid in his veins, thin and quick, fueling him. He couldn't  _believe_ the dream, vision,  _whatever_ had been disconnected like that-

"You were sleeping," Geoff reminded him sardonically.

"Exactly," was all Michael said, because he knew that Geoff wouldn't understand, not yet. There were more questions than answers at this point, and Michael would only raise more of them if he tried to explain what little information he knew. It was also essential that Michael kept Geoff on task for the next few hours. This meeting sounded big (and it had better be, after a week's worth of waiting for a single, stupid text, fucking  _hell_ -), and Michael didn't want anyone or anything sidetracked because he leaped before he looked. 

His thoughts were all a muddle as he sped around his room, snatching clothes and belts and deodorant in his attempt to get ready for a shower. He knew that it was no use attempting to go back to sleep at the moment. The woman would have cut the connection if she was half as smart as Michael thought she was, _knew_ , somehow, that she was. And, on top of that, Michael was absolutely certain that he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again anyway, not with all of the adrenaline pumping through him at the prospects of new information and new opportunities.

Geoff proved to be just as excited as Michael was in the next few hours. He bounced around the room, nagging Michael and checking his phone, occasionally respond to a text. The time did  _not_ pass quickly, but Michael endured it as he had all week, and fifteen minutes before the time of the meeting, they slipped into his car and began their journey to Jack's.

Jack was behind the bar when they walked in (using the front door this time, which was nice, and gave Michael a better idea of what the place was like to people who haven't been naked in it). He waved jovially, and Geoff returned the action with a grin. Michael merely smiled and followed Geoff to the same table they had sat at last time. He must have looked like a little lap dog, and Jack was probably laughing hysterically inside at the sight of him having so quickly converted. It made Michael's throat tighten.

"So, when's this guy supposed to show up?" Michael asked, mostly for something to do while they waited. The drive had only taken ten minutes.

"Knowing Gavin, he'll be at least a half hour late. I'm hoping that I was persuasive enough that he'll show up on time," Geoff informed him lazily.

"Persuasive? Persuasive how?" Michael stared at the man slouched in front of him, at the way he seemed to hold all the answers - or, at least, more answers than Michael. Or rather, how he seemed to not care at all what the answers were, and thus ascended beyond them. Either way, he was confident enough that Michael, who knew less than nothing about anything at any given time, was pissed off.

"That's for me to know, and for you to possibly find out, but most certainly not for a very long length of time," Geoff riddled. He glanced at the door, and his eyes widened to comedic proportions. "There he is."

"What?" Michael demanded, turning just in time to see a skinny, sunglassed-wearing guy walk through the door. Michael's eyebrows furrowed, because  _who_ got along with a person who wore sunglasses inside?

"I'll be damned," Geoff whispered reverently. "I have never seen this kid  _early_ in my entire life. I'll say I did the trick."

Michael turned back as Geoff began to wave. "Doesn't look like much," he commented.

"And, in almost any circumstance, he _isn't_ much. But sometimes he's just barely adequate, and that's why I want him," Geoff informed Michael.

"Geoffrey!" came the enthusiastic greeting of the man, and Michael was a bit thrown. Gavin was a lot higher-pitched, a lot less serious, and a lot more British than he had been expecting. 

"How are you doing, you big, annoying, prick?" Geoff had the biggest grin on his face as he slapped hands with Gavin and gestured to him to sit in the unoccupied seat at their table.

"Not too bad, and yourself?" Gavin's smile was goofy and honest, and he took his sunglasses off in the clumsiest way possible. Michael was thrown by his very contradicting personality to what Michael had anticipated.

"Never better," Geoff assured him. "Michael Jones, I would like you to meet the single reason that America decided to get as far away from the British as possible, Gavin Free. Gavin Free, this is the  _second_ most reckless, moronic piece of shit I've ever met in my entire life, Michael Jones."

Gavin cocked his head at Geoff. "Who's the first?" he asked curiously.

Geoff stared at him.

"Oh, I get it."

Michael snickered and Gavin turned to him. He smiled widely, stuck out his hand, and said, "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Michael Jones! I hear you and Geoff have a sort of proposition for me."

Michael stoically took Gavin's hand and shook it. Their palms were both a little clammy, so as soon as it was over with, Michael covertly wiped his hand on his jeans. "I don't know if I'd call it a proposition so much as a half-assed idea that we slapped on the wall at two in the morning. It's all on Geoff."

Geoff gave Michael a traitorous stare for a whole second before muttering, "True enough."

It was at that moment that Jack arrived with a tray of drinks in hand. "I thought I felt like I suddenly wanted to overthrow my government. Gavin, buddy, how are ya?" he asked, but Michael could see plainly that he was delighted to be reuniting with what was apparently an old friend.

"I'd be a lot better if you'd get me a house special?" Gavin requested innocently, putting on a pleading simper. Jack rolled his eyes.

"One usual, one house special, one whiskey? Awesome. Coming right up," he said, then stalked away. 

"Right, so what's this about, Geoff?" Gavin asked once their privacy had been returned to them. "You're bloody lucky I was in town for this. I  _so_ was not getting on a plane just to see your godawful face."

Geoff gave a laugh that suggested he found more than what Gavin had said funny. "I'll bet you wouldn't," he agreed, and Gavin's eyes widened before his face went red. Geoff didn't give him time to sink further into whatever hole he'd dug, and Michael stared on, completely out of the loop, as he continued, "What this is about, is Michael. And me. Mostly Michael, because it's what Michael wants." He paused, got the last of his giggles out, and gently punched Gavin on the shoulder. "We're looking for people interested in forming a sort of crew."

Gavin looked incredibly puzzled. "You want a crew? You've never done."

"Michael does, and I want Michael," Geoff explained simply. "What Michael doesn't know is how good you are on a laptop - fortunately for all of us, I do."

Michael decided it was time to interrupt. "Should we really be talking about this so openly here?" he asked. "What if, like, a cop overhears?"

Geoff gave him a single raised eyebrow. "What if a  _cop_ overhears," he repeated knowingly, then rubbed at his face. He gave a muffled half-chuckle, half-groan and checked to see how far along Jack was with bringing them their drinks. 

Gavin stepped in. "Michael, take a look around this bar and tell me what you see," he prompted. Michael was skeptical, mainly because he didn't want to look like a fool. He followed orders nonetheless, craning his neck around to take in the curious characters enjoying a late-afternoon drink on a Friday.

At least three people were sharpening knives. Michael recalled the man he had seen last week who had been polishing his pink gun. There was a woman tossing a grenade in the air and catching it as though it was a baseball. Michael felt his eyes widen and his heart skip a beat.

"This is not a normal bar," he declared.

He heard laughter coming from the table, and saw that Jack had returned with their drinks. "You can say that again," he agreed. "It's a sort of... acceptance club? I don't know how to describe it. I specifically cater to the less desirable. The people who would create a fuss if they walked into any respectable place."

"Awwww, I respect your place, Jack," Gavin assured him lovingly. "It's a damn sight better than any pub in England. Wish we had blokes there who could think like you and make a place like this."

"They probably do, you're just too stupid to find them," Jack bet. "What brings you into town, anyway?"

"Was helpin' a friend with a favor. He needed someone to get him some files," Gav divulged. He took a sip of his drink and brightened at the taste. "'Course, I nearly died in the attempt, but it all worked out in the end." He gave a smile like he was unsure of himself.

"I see. Well, good luck, buddy," Jack wished. "If you're not too hung up scoping out the hot American dudes, swing by again some time before you go." Then, ruffling Gavin's hair, he walked back to the bar and began cleaning the dishes.

"That makes three of us who have almost died in the past week," Geoff enthused. Gavin looked at him incredulously.

"That's right! I bloody thought I had a bone to pick with you!" Gavin nearly screeched. "A fuckin' ambulance Geoff, are you mad? How the hell did you survive that? I saw it all over the news, I thought you were-"

"That's a part of a thing I've got to explain, and I'll get to it in a minute," Geoff assured, waving a hand. Gavin looked like even the least of his concerns could not be dismissed by this gesture. "Right now, all I want is for you to tell me what you're thinking about my offer."

"I'm thinking you obviously need someone to look after you when you won't look after yourself. It's goddamn amazing you're still alive, left under your care." Gav shook his head and took another drink, then caught Michael's eye. "How long have you known him? Has he always been this bloody crazy with you, too?"

"Eight days. And, yes." Michael thought he could see Gavin picking out the way Michael's eyes carried that sarcastic dullness of having to deal with Geoff's rambunctious ways.

"Hmmm. I sympathize," he said importantly.

"Okay, okay, we can stop talking about Geoff like he isn't here," Geoff said.

"You're doing it," Gavin pointed out. Michael could swear he saw Geoff's face go a slightly darker shade of red from pure annoyance.

"Gavin, for the love of Christ, I just want to know which way you're leaning towards on my offer," Geoff said, exasperated. Michael was finding it difficult not to laugh after all the frustration Geoff had put  _him_ through the last few weeks. One more wise crack from Gavin, and Michael was sure he'd start believing in karma.

Gavin side-eyed Michael, then took a drink, clearly mulling over the idea. "I think it sounds top," he said at length. "I'm just wondering who else you've pegged for the job yet."

"No one. You were the first," Geoff admitted. Gavin's eyebrows pulled upward in clear surprise.

"I'm the  _first_? Well, have you  _asked_ anyone else?"

"Relax, buddy, I wanted to get a test run first. You were my guinea pig. Now that I know it's smart enough for the stupidest idiot on the planet, I can start putting more feelers out," Geoff explained. He took a superior sip of his drink.

"Well, do you have a plan, at least? What level were you planning on hitting at? I know you thought it'd be a brilliant idea to steal an ambulance last week, but bloody we can't have-"

" _Relax_ , I said," Geoff pressed. He took a confident swig of his drink. "I'm already looking at a joint to hit. It's a warm up for us - a gas station not too far from here. We'll blow right through it."

Gavin swallowed tensely. "Well, you know I love workin' with you, Geoff," he said matter-of-factly. Michael got the strong impression of a kid talking to their parent from him. "If you can find a way to make this pan out without killing everyone involved, I'd be the first to volunteer."

Michael, unbeknownst to himself, was smiling as he pondered the idea. Hitting up a gas station and making off with the money, Geoff and Gavin high-tailing it behind him as they escaped from Demarais and Dunkelman. A few scrapes and bruises quickly healing as they pounded through the streets of Los Santos. It was like they were made for this. He was already itching to get out there.

"That good enough for you, Michael?" Geoff checked.

Michael, dragged from his thoughts not for the first time that day, looked back at Geoff. He could read it in Geoff's face that he knew Michael was hooked. "That's good enough for me," he said, biting on the nail of his thumb.

Gavin beamed. "Right, then, so are you going to tell me about that ambulance business now?" he demanded of Geoff. Geoff noticeably deflated.

"Ah - right - I wasn't expecting you to remember. Well, see-"

"He's an absolute fucking idiot," Michael contributed. "And we should both be dead because of it."

Gavin's eyebrows pulled together for a moment, then he looked at Michael with awe as he wrestled with it, got it, put it together... "Michael Jones..." he muttered, then looked at Geoff in panic for a split second. It occurred to Michael that he might think this whole thing was a set up, that Geoff had betrayed him. Then, Gavin turned back to Michael, and that fear washed away. This idiot was either extremely trusting or extremely stupid. Or both. "You're the cop. But, you should be dead. How are you not...?"

"It's a long, fucking story, buddy," Geoff said wearily. "And you probably won't believe half of it, but remember that I have never steered you wrong. I am telling you the God's honest truth when I say that Michael and I did die. And then we came back to life."

"Not even for the first time," Michael quipped. He kept up the facade, but his palms were sweating again. He knew how ridiculous it sounded. He wouldn't have believed it if it was him in Gavin's place.

Gavin stared at the two of them for a moment as though he wasn't sure that they or he or all of them weren't crazy. After a long beat, he said, "Is that why you couldn't tell me what happened in Portugal?" He spoke softly, carefully.

"That's why," Geoff confirmed quietly. He and Michael were both analyzing Gavin's face, at the gears turning and shifting behind his eyes. Michael immediately decided that telling him so early had been a uniquely stupid decision. They should've eased him into it. How had Geoff told Jack the first time? Maybe it was something that you just had to see to understand, maybe Jack had been there when it had happened. Gavin was probably about to call quits on the whole situation, call them nuts, tell them to fuck off and live their delusions as far away from him as possible-

But then, he slumped back in his chair, downed his drink, and muttered, "That's a bloody relief. I thought I was the only one."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see ya in a week <33


	3. the informant

Gavin swung forward again, knocking his elbows on the table with a heavy  _thunk_. He made the smallest wince of pain but otherwise ignored it. Michael and Geoff both stared at him, uncomprehending of what they'd just heard.

Geoff was the first to break the silence, but he didn't sound very confident with his words. "Gavvers... You've... died too?" He asked it gently, as though he was afraid of bringing up a sensitive subject. Or, perhaps like he thought Gavin didn't quite understand the current conversation, and wanted to correct him in the gentlest way possible.

Gavin nodded dramatically, eyes wide. "It was bloody freaky-deeks. I was scared outta my mind."

"When did this happen?" Michael asked, eyebrows furrowed more in confusion than in disbelief. It was ridiculous - he'd gone through it himself on multiple occasions and yet here he was, doubting someone else, even when the woman from his dream had  _explicitly told him_ that there were others out there. Others that he and Geoff needed to  _find_. It didn't hit him until just then that they  _needed_ Gavin, that he was  _meant_ to join them. Michael had the feeling that he would need more charisma than he'd ever possessed in his life to pull this off. Nothing had ever or would ever be so important as this.

"Two days ago," Gavin answered smartly. "It was when I was on the damn job, wunnit? That favor I mentioned? For my friend? Security system was mental. I hacked it, 'course, that was the easy bit. Got the files on a memory stick and started to make my way out, not a problem, when the damn _lift_ stopped working halfway back to the lobby. Just me in there, I'm bloody freakin' out of course, and then all the lights shut off. Next thing I know, it starts hurtlin' down the chute, crashes all the way in the basement, and I'm a sandwich of scrap metal, wires, and blood." He gave a dry gag at the memory. Michael raised both eyebrows.

"What I wasn't expecting, obviously, was to wake up a few hours later," Gavin continued, nodding solemnly. "All the bits that had been stuck in me-" Another dark cough "-were gone. Not even somewhere else, just like they vanished, and I was stuck there in this rubble. Two minutes later, just when I was startin' to get real worried about gettin' out of there, some bloke on a rope comes down and practically lands on my chest. He can't believe I'm alive, much less unharmed. Chalked up to a miracle, I guess. _I'm_ just glad I know better now."

There was a moment of impressive silence. Then Geoff, being Geoff, broke it completely.

"God damn!" he exclaimed, then whistled. "I was ready to bring out all sorts of evidence and have this conversation with you for three fucking hours, and you believe it in two goddamn sentences. I'm almost pissed."

"I'm not," Michael assured him, privately unsure why it felt like he was butting into a conversation that he had been a part of since the beginning. So far, he had been completely unable to peg Gavin down - which was strange, because as a former cop, Michael was supposed to be really fucking good at getting first impressions off people. How had Gavin and Geoff become so close? "The only thing I can't understand is how you infiltrated a building, hacked a computer, stole secret files, and then died  _in the fucking elevator ride back downstairs_. Who does that?"

"Now you understand why I said we want him for his laptop skills," Geoff monotoned. 

"Oi, oi, lads, I'm still right here," Gavin reminded them. Michael and Geoff both chuckled, Michael cutting back a large portion of his whiskey directly afterward. He couldn't explain it, but it was almost as if this felt completely natural. Looking up to Geoff, Gavin at his side - maybe it was a sign that whatever memories he'd apparently lost were still with him. But he wasn't about to even _look_ at that can of worms yet. Not when he noticed the stranger making his way up to their table.

The man with the pink gun and glasses stopped in the space between Geoff and Michael. He was young, but his face was completely serious where it wasn't void of any emotion at all. Geoff let silence reign for less than two seconds before addressing him.

"Can we help you?"

The man seemed to ponder his response to that for a short moment before biting his cheek and saying, "It isn't smart to talk so loudly. I get why you think you're safe here, but I guarantee you that I'm not the only one who just heard that - and some of the people in here are not going to let you go about your business with as much tolerance as me."

Michael blinked at him. "Your point?" he asked confidently. With Geoff, Gavin, and their best friend Immortality on his side, Michael wasn't very scared of a Puerto Rican twig in a purple sweatshirt.

"My  _point_ is that, you're lucky you're stupid, because I overheard you, even though I shouldn't have, and I think I have a contact who you would be interested in meeting," the guy continued. "Name's Ray."

Geoff's turn to steer the interrogation. "Why do we care about meeting some  _Ray_ when we don't even know y-"

"No,  _I'm_ Ray," the guy corrected, rolling his eyes. "Grammar is a bitch, huh? Anyway, that's not the point. I don't even  _know_ the name of the guy - or, his real name, anyway. He goes by some nickname that I would call ridiculous, if not for the fact that he scares the shit out of me and could definitely destroy this entire city in an afternoon."

"A nickname?" Michael pressed, leaning forward.

Geoff held up a hand without looking at Michael, indicating his need to slow down. "He could be the hot twin of Mother Theresa, and I still would not give a fuck about him unless you would tell me  _why_ I care about meeting him."

Ray raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips lazily. He pulled out the table's last chair and took a seat, then regarded Geoff lazily for quite some time before continuing spitefully, " _He_ can't die. He's my highest payer, and that's because  _nothing_ can bring him down. Not chopper crashes, not cop squads, not gang fights. I've seen the guy take a knife between the ribs, break  _seven necks_ , then collapse against a wall. The next day, he showed up asking for his money. I couldn't believe my fucking eyes."

Geoff was now listening with very rapt attention, Michael and Gavin following suit. Even the tables around them had seemed to quiet down in anticipation of the next words spoken.

Geoff's face broke out into a grin. "Well, Ray, why didn't you say so in the  _first place_? I knew I liked you, kid. Geoff Ramsey, pleased to meet you."

For the first time, Ray's face showed some degree of shock. " _Geoff Ramsey_?" he repeated. "The ambulance guy? Holy shit. I'll bet you could pull off a pretty penny for the right job."

"A fucking gorgeous penny," Geoff agreed. He held out his hand and shook Ray's tightly. "Now, who's this guy I wanna meet? Sounds like I'm gonna have to get my suit pressed."

Ray nodded obligingly. "Well, the nickname - the name me and pretty much all of California knows him by - is the Vagabond."

Michael nearly fell out of his chair. "The  _Vagabond_?" he repeated. In the back of his mind, the only thing he could think was,  _Finally, a concrete lead._

Gavin and Geoff both eyed Michael with concern at the outburst. Ray looked very pleased to have reeled a decent hook. 

"Whoa, buddy, where'd you set the fire? Calm down," Geoff coaxed. He reached over the table and gave Michael a comforting pat on the shoulder. Michael barely felt it, his eyes trance-like on Ray.

"The  _Vagabond_?" he reiterated, as if giving Ray a moment to change his answer. Ray nodded deliberately.

"Do you know him?" Gavin prompted.

Michael shook his head. "We need to meet him," he said, this time directed at Geoff, who, startled speechless by the resolution in Michael's face, merely opened and shut his mouth several times sequentially.

"Wot? Why?" Gavin took over. He leaned closer to Michael on the table, probably out of a subconscious interest. Michael stared him dead in the eye.

"It's going to take a lot more time and privacy to explain than we have right now," Michael began, digging his index finger into the wood of the table. "Geoff, Gavin, come back to my place. Ray, do you have a phone so we can swap numbers? And another thing - make our meeting The Vagabond your number one priority."

Ray gave a small, musical laugh. "I have other more dangerous, more important clients to consider," he disagreed. "But I'll keep it up there on the list."

Geoff leaned ever so slightly across the table, his shoulders shifting into a straight, tense line, his eyes dark. Damn if Michael wasn't actually intimidated by it - so how could Ray not be? "I think you're forgetting that there's three of us, and one of you, and we can't die," he threatened.

Ray raised his eyebrows, though the mirth in his face had gone. "I think  _you're_ forgetting that I'm your only possible shot at getting The Vagabond on your side. Or, at least, your easiest. I can make it happen in one week."

"That's less time than it took for  _Gavin_ to get back to us," Michael stated, staring at the table. Gavin let out an indignant noise.

"I was dead!" he cried in defense.

Geoff interrupted with a quiet voice - so quiet that Michael and Gavin should never have had their outburst subdued by it. And yet, something about Geoff... "You have a deal, Ray. Get us in touch with this guy."

Ray held out his hand for another shake, which Geoff accepted. It barely harbored any ill will on Geoff's part. "So, which one of you assholes has a phone number for me to take?" he asked leisurely.

 

\+ + +

 

The ride back to Michael's apartment was almost awkward. Geoff was still peeved about having been outsmarted by a wiseass kid, and Gavin was lounged about in the back seat making mindless comments about everything they passed - apparently completely unaware of the otherwise stony silence. 

When they arrived in Michael's living room, Geoff kicked his shoes off and made himself at home. He was muttering something to himself, indistinguishable to Michael, as he made his way toward the couch. Gavin trailed in behind Michael, looking around himself in wonder.

"Nice pad," he muttered, head turning comically from side to side as he tried to take it all in.

"Thanks." Michael left it at that as he traipsed after Geoff. "So, elephant in the room - or, not in the room, but I have an elephant to let out on all of you." Geoff and Gavin both turned to him, listening. "This afternoon, when I fell asleep, I had a weird... something. I don't think it was a dream, but it definitely wasn't real, but it also was."

"Geoff, is this what it sounds like when I talk?" Gavin asked, his eyelids pulled back in obvious bewilderment.

"Every damn day, buddy," Geoff assured him. He planted his feet on the coffee table, his gaze level with Michael, attention undivided.

"Shut up, idiots," Michael ordered, taking control of the room again. "In my...  _whatever_ , there was this girl, and she said a lot of stuff I didn't understand and talked really fast, but she also said  _some_ stuff I  _might_ understand - in a few years. Anyway, pretty much she pointed me in the right direction, Geoff. She said that there are six of us. You me and Gavin make half, the Vagabond will probably make four. Now, I have no idea who the other two are supposed to be, but-"

"Hold on, hold on, hold on," Gavin interjected, raising a hand to let Michael know he had more to say. "How do we know for sure this Vagabond bloke has anything to do with us? Why did you go all spacey at the pub?"

"I was  _getting_ to that, Nimrod," Michael snapped. "This girl, she said his name. She said that the people we're looking for have mortal names, but I guess they also have...  _immortal_ names, too? I don't know. All I know is that she  _definitely_ said The Vagabond. We have to find him."

"Michael," Geoff began gently, in the tone one might use to try and coax someone out of delusions, "how do we know that this wasn't your mind playing tricks on you? You were over-imaginative about the whole situation, so you had a crazy dream."

"Okay, Geoff, you're right," Michael said, full of vinegar. "I don't have enough problems to deal with, so I hashed out some fucking ludicrous fantasy world where all of this has fucking purpose, and that just  _happened_ to coincide with us finding out about a guy having the  _exact same name_  I  _imagined_ on the  _exact same_ afternoon."

"I once knew a bloke called Barry who thought he could see the future," Gavin said awkwardly, like he wasn't exactly sure what point he was trying to create. "Coulda just been a coincidence."

"Right. A coincidence. Fucking of course," Michael spat. He crossed his arms and stared at the two of them like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Well, from what I understand, she wanted us to get everyone together so we could figure this out. If you two want to risk fucking that up, fine. Geoff, you can fuck right off back to whatever rathole you live in, and Gavin? Nice meeting you. Have fun on your flight back to England, say hello to the fucking queen for me."

"Michael, we didn't mean it like that, we just meant-"

"Shut your mouth, Gavin, why would I make this up?"

"We don't think you're making it up, we just think you're putting more stock into this than there needs to be," Gavin said, his voice pleading with Michael to calm down. "How come neither of us had any dreams?"

"Because you weren't sleeping!" Michael yelled, swinging his arms back in exclamation. "Or...! Maybe you were! I don't fucking know, maybe she just didn't want to goddamn talk to you!"

"Michael, I want to believe you-"

"Then, believe me!" Michael raged. "It's not exactly the most far-fetched thing in our lives! In fact, it kind of helps everything make  _sense_ , in case you hadn't noticed."

"Look, look, look, look, look," Geoff quelled, "there are some pretty high tensions in here right now. Let's remember that we're all friends, and more importantly, that we all need each other."

Michael stared at Geoff like he couldn't believe what had just come out of his mouth. In a second, he was back to his snappy demeanor. "Yeah, until  _Michael_ says so," he shouted, true fury lighting his eyes. It was in that moment that his television, 72 inches of high definition ass-kicking, shattered directly down the middle. Geoff jumped out of his seat, Michael spun around, and Gavin screamed as he dove behind the couch.

"What the fuck?" said Geoff and Michael. Geoff took a hesitant step forward, eyes raking over the area with an intense curiosity. 

"What the bloody hell just happened?" Gavin demanded, still hiding behind the couch. Michael found that his rage had vanished, replaced in an instant by startled wonder.

"It fucking cracked," Michael declared. "Why the hell did it do that?"

The tip of Gavin's head began to peak up. "Maybe it's because you got really angry," he suggested. Geoff looked back at him like he was the dumbest, most pitiable piece of shit he had ever known. Gavin perked up. "Wot! Haven't you ever seen  _Matilda_?"

"I'm not a fucking six year old in an abusive home, Gavin. It must has been something inside the TV busted," Michael deduced. "Maybe bad wiring that caused a weird break."

"Says the guy who thinks he can communicate with a girl in his head," Gavin muttered petulantly. Geoff tensed and looked back at him angrily.

"You are the fucking stupidest piece of shit I have ever-"

" _I fucking saw her, Gavin, shut your goddamn mouth before I crack you in half like my goddamn television, wait for you to wake back up, and then push you out my fucking window_!" Michael screamed, fists clenched tightly and face absolutely red.

"ALRIGHT!" Geoff bellowed, sticking out both of his arms and shutting his eyes tight, like he could block out the two silenced morons just by pretending hard enough. "We're  _done_ talking about this right now. Everyone take a few minutes alone to chill, I'll cook up some dinner. God-fucking-damn."

And that was the way the argument ended.

 

\+ + +

 

It wasn't until Michael was getting ready for bed that he remembered the dispute of the afternoon. Geoff had done a good job of distracting them with steaks and veggies, then a few hours of mindless XBox to seal Gavin and Michael's friendships. And, well, Michael had to hand it to him. Gavin was fucking funny when he wasn't being an annoying piece of shit.

So, like, a good thirty percent of the time.

Michael settled in underneath his covers and stared at the red glow of his clock. It was just after eleven, and he was absolutely exhausted after all of the goings on of his day. All of a sudden, they were three leaps closer to wherever the hell they were going - wherever that woman was leading them. Which, she was totally a thing. Michael was absolutely sure of it, and he couldn't wait to prove it to those idiot dickheads on his two couches out there. That would be the smuggest day of his life, and he would be totally justified in it.

Perhaps his persistent thoughts on gloating when the time came was what prodded him to see the woman again.

Michael must have fallen asleep, because he was in that golden room again - looking up at the immense ceiling, staring out the windows at the void and stars combined behind them.

"Fucking finally," the woman greeted. "I thought you would never go back to bed. I was just about to leave."

Michael's eyes flashed to her at once - she looked exactly the same, down to her leather armor. Except, perhaps, maybe now she was less stressed. "Who are you?" was the first question he asked. He wanted to know her name, to have some way of referring to her when he brought his case back to Gavin and Geoff.

"Well, just like you and the Fake AH Crew, I have two names," she began, but Michael cut her off with a hand between them.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Me and the  _what_?"

"Shit, sorry. It's a little weird that you don't remember anything. The Fake AH Crew is what you guys called yourself when you were home - here," she explained. "Here, everyone has two names. Sometimes, people tell you both - not often. Anyway, you know my name, even if you don't remember it right now. You can call me Lindsay. Or, if you'd prefer (for whatever reason, I don't know), The Informant."

"The Informant?" Michael repeated, eyebrows raised. "That's pretty specific. What's my name?"

"You? You're The Enforcer," Lindsay told him. "Geoff is The Boss. Do you remember all the other names I told you?"

"Shit, yeah, the, uh, The Vagabond," Michael stammered. "I think we found him. The only problem is, Gavin and Geoff don't believe me when I tell them about these... whatevers I'm having."

"You can call them Dream Comms. It's how people in this realm talk to friends and family on missions in other realms," Lindsay explained patiently. "We have a lot more time now because Gus is in a council meeting, and I don't have to worry about him walking in on this. At least, not for another hour or two, but somehow, I doubt you'll be out of my hair by then."

"Yes, okay, cool, I understood none of that," Michael said quickly. "Didn't you hear what I just said? How the hell am I supposed to convince Geoff and Gavin that this is real?"

"I  _did_ hear you, funny enough," Lindsay said saltily. "I was stalling for time, though. Another pathway is just about to open up."

"Another what?" Michael asked.

Lindsay gave him a small smile, not unlike the one she had used to comfort him before. It did a lot to restore his trust in her. "Another pathway," she reiterated brightly, as though that made the idea behind the words any less muddled. "One of you is almost asleep."

"What? Who? And - and why can't you just tell me the real names of the people I need to find? The mortal names? It would make everything a whole hell of a lot easier," Michael said.

"I can't tell you because I don't know." Lindsay sounded almost upset to have to admit that. "Like I said, a lot of people don't share their real names with  _anybody_. I was never really a huge part of your gang, anyway. But  _we_ were friends, Michael. You were also just really drunk when you told me your name, but that's beside the point... Are you ready for the conference call?"

"What?" Michael asked. By the time he had closed his mouth again, Gavin was gaping at him on his right.

" _Wot_? What the bloody hell is-?"

" _I FUCKING TOLD YOU_!" Michael screamed, jabbing a finger into Gavin's chest. It was the most satisfying feeling in the world. Gavin, despite the clear underlying aggressive tone, just looked annoyed at having been wrong.

"Damn it," he muttered.

"Um, guys?" Lindsay prodded. "Still here. You might want to be more careful, Michael. That whole screaming thing? Yeah, that's going to disrupt a few wave lengths, and we don't want anybody to monitor this Dream Comm. Because, let's face it, the workers here are piss-poor because they think they're invincible, but they can also fuck shit up."

"What the hell is this..." Gavin muttered, spinning in a small circle and staring up at the ceiling. Michael smirked. Gavin saw, pouted, then turned back to look at Lindsay. She gave him a measured, welcoming stare.

"Hey, Havoc," she greeted. "Good to see you again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see ya in a week <333


	4. the vagabond

Initially, a lot of it was the same.

Gavin asked a lot of questions, most of which had never even occurred to Michael: "Wot's this place made of?" "How can we get here?" "Where are we - no,  _where_ \- like bloody  _piss_ I don't recognize any of these stars, is this even the Milky Way?"

Lindsay answered all of them. Michael, for the most part, could only watch in moderate amazement. He would offer the occasional interjection, never more than an offhanded comment or quip, and Gavin and Lindsay would continue their geek conversation as though he hadn't spoken. Michael spent the time trying to imagine what this might have felt like if he knew who these people were, if there was familiarity in these actions.

Gavin was much more mobile than Michael had been in his first visit. He moved around the room, inspecting and deducing, his fingers tracing lightly over any gadget or gizmo they could find. The only door in the room was sealed tightly shut, and none of them made any effort to leave, but that didn't stop Gavin from looking and touching. 

It was sort of endearing, the way he lost himself in the excitement of it all. Of course, he nearly tripped and decapitated himself twice, but other than that.

"So, Michael said there were a couple of us?" Gavin eventually tempered in. "Could you find them with this place? It's like a radio beacon that collects messages and drags them back so you can have a face-to-face conversation."

"I've been trying," Lindsay said, shrugging. "Remember how I said your guard has to be down for me to reach you? It does. Which means you have to be sleeping. I can only guess from here, and plan my moves accordingly. That being said, another problem is that, in order for me to be able to distinguish you from literally every human on that planet, I have to be able to pinpoint  _you_. And, I can't really do that."

"Why not?" Gavin asked. He was crouched underneath a window, running his fingers along the metal, watching its sheen and shine. Michael was still getting shivers from the way it reflected itself - this room was beautiful, and the back his mind told him that it was only the beginning. Beyond this must be dazzling sights, breathtaking to behold. He didn't want to be stuck in this room anymore, he wanted to explore this place he had apparently come from.

"Because the others never told me their real names and, more importantly, they aren't even  _aware_ that they have other names," Lindsay explained. She hesitated, as if debating whether or not to restrain the information poised on the tip of her tongue. "Actually... all except one."

"The Vagabond," Michael guessed. "He figured out his name, somehow, and that means you've been able to contact him."

Lindsay made a noise half between a sigh and a groan. "Yes and no. I did manage to talk to him, but just once. He was the first one I got in touch with. After that, he blocked me out. I have no idea how he manages it. If _you_ don't know how to, _he_ shouldn't know how to."

"So does this mean that you can just peak inside our heads whenever you want?" Gavin asked distractedly. "Could we learn to keep our guard down to you and give you free access? Maybe you could get our memories back for us, if you poked around a bit."

"It's not that easy, Gavin," Lindsay assured him. "It takes a long time to learn how to master the Dream Comms, and I want to get you idiots back here sooner rather than later. Seriously. I'm bored out of my mind without my gods of mischief."

Gavin's eyes widened. "Gods of mischief?" he repeated. He was frozen in a ridiculous position, uncomprehending. Lindsay rolled her eyes amicably.

"Well... like, duh. What else did you think you could be?" she asked. "You have two names, you can't die, and you've been set in an elaborate prison in the attempt to make you mortal."

"Wait, but... how... I... hold on," Michael interjected. "Okay, so this is a prison. Earth. I get that, I'm down, whatever, okay. We lost all of our memories of here - wherever the hell we are now. I'll bite down on that, too. But, you said we've only been here - again, Earth - for, like, a week. How come I have an entire lifetime worth of memories?"

Lindsay gave him her measured look once more, as if she could tell him to prepare himself without speaking. "They're fake memories."

Michael flashed back to his first kiss, his first car, to the times he had genuinely felt proud of himself, and raised his eyebrows at the blow that they were, apparently, completely fictional. "Well, thanks for tearing that band-aid right off."

"What's a band-aid?"

"So the stuff in my head's not really in my head?" Gavin asked. 

"No, it's not," Lindsay clarified. "About .00002 percent of what you remember is actually you. I just did the calculations in my head."

"Well, why didn't they just drop us onto the planet as babies, then?" Michael demanded. "Let us start all over, actually stop being virgins when we thought we did..."

"Because they didn't want you to live that long, or, at all, really, to put it bluntly," Lindsay said morbidly. "You were put on Earth in that exact moment. You were surrounded by strangers, people who you thought you knew, so that you wouldn't think anything was wrong when you when to destroy yourselves. Michael, you were the Enforcer. The cop. That's no coincidence. You were supposed to put Geoff behind bars. The council assumed that if Geoff was captured, he would be subject to the same standards as mortals. Locked behind bars for all time.

"But, what they didn't calculate was that the proximity of each other, after the separate journey to Earth, spiked your  _im_ mortal powers, and you and Geoff didn't even have time to die before you were back up again," Lindsay said quickly. "Not to mention, you clearly  _shouldn't_ have been back up again. Gus doesn't know anything about that. He thinks that his master plan is unfolding, and that one by one, you're clocking all of your old friends behind bars. Gavin was supposed to be next on your list, something about a memory stick being confiscated, I don't know. It wasn't worth getting caught to read enough into it."

"So he basically set us up to be captured?" Gavin simplified. "What a twat."

"Succinctly," Lindsay confirmed.

"Hold on, hold on, hold on," Michael interjected again. "If I was supposed to arrest Geoff, and I wasn't even supposed to  _know_ that I'm not normal... why do I have memories of coming back from the dead?"

"Ah, I can answer that one! I can answer that one!" Gavin said excitedly, hopping up and down. "It's out brain's subconscious repairing itself - making up for what we didn't know we knew."

Michael looked at Lindsay for an explanation.

"Your brain knew that there was something wrong with itself compared to humans, and the fake memories re-structured themselves around that in order to make sense. That's another big thing about being human. They always want everything to make sense," Lindsay amended. Michael nodded as he tried to work through it. 

"That's what I said!" Gavin insisted.

Michael felt his mind numbing at all of the information he'd gotten - so much so that he could feel himself stirring on Earth, exactly where he didn't want to be. He looked at Lindsay with a small panic, and she seemed to be understanding what was going on.

"Hey, it's no trouble," she said. "I can find you again, don't worry. Not everybody gets used to Dream Comms right away. Not to mention, I didn't exactly play it light with how much I told you. It was nearly time to wrap up our session, anyway. Gus's meeting's going to be over soon. Any reason you want to stick around a few extra minutes, Havoc?"

"Nah, better wake up and take care of dopey over here," he said, pointing a thumb at Michael over his shoulder. Michael rolled his eyes and told himself to wake up faster.

 

\+ + +

 

When he came to, his body had a lot of energy that it didn't know what to do with. His first action was to sit up, gasp loudly, and tremendously disturb his nest of blankets. They had to be the reason it was so hot, there was no air, he was so, he had...

He had sweat sticking to him all over, the small fan on his nightstand hitting him on the back of the neck and further waking him up by sensation. There was the quickest, faintest knock on the door, and Michael's brain sluggishly tried to catch up to it.

"Mhmm?" he slurred. His room was dark, his voice deep. The curtains were pulled shut, keeping Los Santos firmly out. The floor was in a disarray of shadows spilled this way and that, and the first thing Gavin did was trip over Michael's boots.

"Why d'you keep those here?" he whispered angrily.

"Shut up," Michael answered, rubbing his forehead. He took a deep inhale and lazily regarded Gavin, who was righting himself and sliding the door shut. "You saw her, too, this time."

"Yeah, Lindsay," Gavin mumbled, as though he was testing her name out on his tongue. "Think we can trust her?"

"Yes," Michael said immediately. He was still looking at the line where his bed stopped and he could see the floor behind it. Gavin didn't bother to wait for an invitation. He slipped up the side of the mattress and perched himself next to Michael, quick and claiming, like a cat.

"What makes you so sure?" Gavin's voice was quiet, especially in the empty space that darkness left.

"She's the only one who tells us what's going on, of course we have to trust her," Michael snapped.

"Oi, oi," Gavin cautioned softly. "I don't not trust her, if that's the conclusion you dove headfirst into. I just don't know her. Or... don't remember her. I think she seems top."

There was a pause where Gavin gauged how Michael would respond, and Michael started giggling. "That's not a fucking word, you moron," he said. "You've been saying that all day, but how you use it, that's not at all what it means."

"If I've been using it as a word all day, that means it is a word," Gavin assured Michael, smiling to himself. He abruptly changed the subject by declaring that he liked Michael's room.

"Thanks, I cleaned it myself." He gestured toward the junk on the floor. 

And then, there was quite a different pause. Michael didn't know how to peg this one. It was like Gavin was preparing himself for something, and Michael, sweating in a vest top, was stuck trying to figure out where that left him. This silence was more uncomfortable than the last, and also more prevalent. Gavin spoke softly when he broke it, and it was about the last thing Michael had been expecting from him,

"D'you think we were good friends?"

The question took Michael by surprise for a moment, and he blinked. This was the first time they had mentioned their memories, not just the fact that Lindsay had something to do with whatever they were, and it was strange. Michael didn't know as much about himself as he wanted to know. The worst part was, he didn't even feel a blank space. He just mustered up the imagine of himself on a bicycle, learning to ride it while his mom watched on.

But Gavin was expecting an answer that Michael didn't have. He had no idea what to say in response - what  _could_ he say?

"I think we all were," is what he settled on. Gavin seemed unsatisfied.

"Well, obviously if we were in it with each other enough to get banished to another planet, but... I mean, do you think that you and me specifically were close? Have you got that little niglet, same as me?" he pressed.

"That little niglet," Michael repeated with a smile, shaking his head, if only to buy himself some more time to answer. And then, he realized, he didn't need to. He spoke without thinking. "All I know is, I've never had friends on Earth. I don't talk to people, I don't open up, I don't get friendly. Maybe that's the way Gus made me, maybe that's the way I am - either way, somehow, two strangers are staying in my house and I'm getting the best sleep I've ever had. So, yeah, I think we were probably pretty good buddies, Gav."

Michael wrapped an arm around Gavin's shoulders, noting the sweat that they had accumulated from their shared dream.

"Real good buddies," Gavin parroted. Just when Michael was about to interject, he took a deep breath and said, "Well, I know one thing. It'll be top getting to tell Geoff he was wrong."

Michael puffed his chest up in barely suppressed rage. " _You_  will get no such privilege you smarmy ass Brit. Not when  _I_ was the one everyone was up against today."

Gavin looked sheepish, but also like he had expected those exact words. He looked at Michael side-eye, and it suddenly hit Michael just how wrong he might have been to say  _buddies_.

 

\+ + +

 

"By the end of the week" turned out to be just two days. The Vagabond was feeling receptive to their company, apparently, and that had made it easy enough for Ray to arrange a meeting. Michael and he were pretty much in constant contact.

Geoff, Gavin, and Michael decidedly were  _not_ heading to the fanciest part of Los Santos. The Vagabond didn't frequent five star hotels and restaurants, as it were, which left them scrambling through the back-alleys of all the alleys in alley-city, trying to find the specific alleyway that had been mentioned. Michael's car barely fit down the roads.

"There!" Gavin squawked, nearly upending himself in the backseat. Michael and Geoff both turned to look, Michael having to reverse the car entirely to see into the narrow gap between walls. Just as Gavin had screeched, there was a man with broad arms and shoulders leaning back against the wall, though it was too dark to make out much more about it.

"Are we sure that's him?" Geoff asked.

"Ray said he'd be here," Gavin said, and took the opportunity of the car slowing to hop out and make for the alley.

"Gavin!" Michael yelled, hastily parking the car. He groaned and wrestled with his seat belt to chase after him, the  _idiot_ , before Geoff's apparent contentment to not move a muscle made him look up. Two green eyes were judging him pretty harshly from just above a perfectly-poised mustache.

"You do know that we can't die, right?" he asked deliberately.

"You  _do_ know that we need this guy to join us, and that means he can't meet  _Gavin_ first?"

Geoff was fumbling with his seat belt and out of the car before Michael could get back to it. The two of them managed to catch up to Gavin just before he approached the Vagabond.

"What took you so long?" he mumbled as Geoff stepped to the front of the group. Michael rolled his eyes and planted a hand firmly on Gavin's shoulder, pushing him behind Geoff and in front of Michael, the best place to be in case a fight broke out.

"You're The Vagabond?" Geoff asked, rather loudly for the proximity of the man - who they could all now clearly discern as wearing a leather jacket and a black skull mask. The sight was definitely intimidating, and so was the voice that drawled from it.

"You the ones the kid sent?"

"Skinny, weird beard, glasses?"

"That's the one." The Vagabond nodded. "Well, I wish I could pretend that we need to know each other long enough to get the formalities down, but I doubt that's the case. The kid pitched me your idea, and I'm going to be brutally honest with you. I am not a team player."

The way he said 'brutally honest' made Michael feel the need to run back to his car and speed away. How had he been friends with this person, different universe or not?

"We figured from the way you named yourself The Vagabond, and such," Geoff delegated. "We also figured that we were just going to get a text that said  _Not interested_ , and have to find some way to make you listen. So, the real question is, why are you meeting us just to turn us down?"

"And why here?" Gavin tacked on petulantly, toeing a three-month-old newspaper bearing half of a headline. Michael elbowed him to shut him up. 

The Vagabond shrugged. "I need to get out of the house every so often."

"Well, did Ray tell you  _everything_?" Geoff asked. "Everything about us?" He gestured between himself and the two idiots who were definitely not cowering behind him. Michael, at least, was putting on a front of acting much braver than he felt. 

"If you're implying the part where you die and come back to life, yes," The Vagabond issued sweetly. "Still not interested, not without proof."

"Proof? You want proof? How about the fact that I blew up and my death is all over the papers, but here I am, asshole?" Geoff demanded. "Me and that kid, both." The Vagabond's head turned from Geoff to Michael, and Michael felt himself step in front of Gavin defensively.

"So you say," The Vagabond challenged simply. "Anybody can say anything. I can say, Yes, I would  _love_ to join your mediocre, newborn crew and have the time of my life doing half the fun for a fraction of the profits - see? I said it. Still not true."

"Fine. I get it that you're not too sure. Just think on coincidences for a few nights, my good man, because there's not a chance we're all meant to be separate," Geoff encouraged. "Besides that, there's still more. We have information about each other, some sort of a source who knows about us."

"Ah, yes. I shut her out a while back. She was ruining the fun of explosions and murder with _subplot_." The Vagabond began to look around the alley as though trying to find out the best way to tear it to the ground. "See? The blatant truth of this is that you have absolutely nothing that I want. Now you don't have to waste months and weeks trying to convince a shadow that he needs a gang."

"We also have a way into LSPD," Michael blurted.

"So do I. Several ways. They're called grenades." The Vagabond sounded very unenthused.

"Sneakier ways," Geoff assured him. "You wouldn't have to die all the time. Not to mention..." He held up a finger, as though waiting for silence before the grand finale, "We also have the only thing in all of Los Santos that you could never possibly obtain without us."

Michael was pretty sure he could see the nonchalance of The Vagabond's face right through his mask. They weren't getting through to him. If Geoff really did have something, it had to be something good. They were running out of patience to test.

"Fine, I'll bite. What is it that you have that I want?" The Vagabond's tone completely betrayed how uninterested in this conversation he was. Michael tried not to feel disheartened.

"We have a way to become gods, free of charge. The literal, real deal. Gods." Geoff dropped his hand into his pocket and looked at The Vagabond like he expected him to be eating from his palms.

The Vagabond's shoulders slumped back against the wall. "Gods," he repeated dully.

"Gods," Geoff said, wonder somewhat forced. "All of the  _immortal_ fun, without all of the mortal limitations. No police, no crime records - just endless fun with any kind of victim you could possibly want."

"You think that we could become gods?" asked The Vagabond blankly. Michael caught on that he didn't trust a word they were saying.

"I know that we can," Geoff assured him.

"It's true," Gavin seconded. Michael stepped more directly in front of him, though he only nodded. Something behind that mask made Michael think that they could have stuck a chord with him. At the very least, they were closer to getting The Vagabond than they had been fifteen seconds ago, and that was something they desperately needed.

"Very well, I'll think on your offer," The Vagabond said dryly. "However, I hope you'll forgive me for wanting to make absolutely certain in a potential investment. Get in touch when he wakes up."

With that, the Vagabond pulled out a shiny metal revolver, aimed it point blank at Michael's forehead, and squeezed the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see ya in a week <3333


	5. the boss's plan

When Michael woke up, he was sweaty and annoyed. It was almost like a bad hangover, apart from the fact that hangovers never made his mouth taste like gunpowder. He groaned and opened his eyes to the dim lighting of his own apartment. The gray light of late evening hung outside his window.

"What the fuuuuck...?"

"Michael!"

Somehow, Gavin was nowhere one second and two inches from Michael's face the next. Michael fought the instinct to recoil, and instead focused on coughing out the foul taste on his tongue.

"Michael, what d'you remember?" Gavin pressed.

Michael closed his eyes as he raised his eyebrows. He wiped at his face and slurred, "That son of a bitch shot me..."

"Oh, okay," Gavin said. "So, a lot. Well, that's good - I guess. Geoff just stepped out, I don't know what for. He told me to keep an eye on you until you wake up. How do you feel?"

Michael opened his eyes specifically so he could narrow them at Gavin. "Like I got shot in the fucking head," he grouched. "Be a doll and bring me a beer from the fridge."

Gavin stumbled out of the living room and into the kitchen. Michael heard him breaking everything in his house, but didn't do much in the way of reacting. It wasn't long before Gavin returned with a bottle in hand, freshly opened and still frothing. 

"So, since you remember everything, you know that we've gotta let The Vagabond know you're awake. Smile for the camera, I guess," Gavin said lightly, holding his phone up and pointing it at Michael. Michael buried his face in one hand and used the other to flip Gavin off. He heard the picture snap and Gavin start to giggle. "That wasn't very polite, Michael."

Michael rolled his eyes. "He  _shot_ me, he doesn't get to see happy Michael. He's goddamn fucking lucky that I want him so badly, or else I would hunt him down and skin him. The fucking  _gall_ of him. What an asshole."

Gavin furrowed his eyebrows, apparently very deeply confused. "Does that mean that we've been seeing happy Michael up until now? Because I think you don't know what happy means," he said.

"Happy Michael is a Michael you will probably never see, you annoying piece of shit, but that's just because you're insufferable," Michael said, but he grinned to let Gavin know he was kidding. Gavin mirrored his expression and sat down on the couch next to him.

"I think I'm going to make it my mission to find happy Michael and make him poke his little freckly face out," Gavin cooed, reaching a finger out and booping Michael on the nose. Michael stared at him with his best attempt at keeping a straight face.

"You're a fucking idiot. When did Geoff leave?" he asked. The room wasn't getting hotter, was it? Why did he still feel the spot where Gavin's finger had hit his nose?

"Few hours ago," Gavin answered. "Pretty much as soon as we got you back here, he went out again. Said something about taking a step in the right direction, for once. I dunno. I've just been chillin' around. You've got a nice place."

"Oh, God," Michael groaned. "Please tell me you didn't raid my underwear drawer or something equally creepy. A man is entitled to his secrets."

Gavin squawked. "I don't just run around rummaging through bloke's shorts, Michael," he defended. "I get that you guys don't know a lot about British culture, but this is just over the top."

Michael rolled his eyes and grinned. He could feel his headache receding, but it was still fun to pretend he was exasperated with Gavin. For some reason, he seemed to feed off of Michael's reactions. Their banter bounced in a way that was mutually beneficial - Gavin got to be a prick and Michael got to call a prick a fucking idiot. The best part was, Gavin always bounced back immediately, if he bothered to take offence.

"Whatever you say," Michael murmured. "So, XBox?"

They killed a decent hour trying out awful game demos before the door was kicked open and Geoff burst in like a champion. He was holding what looked like a pamphlet and grinning from ear to ear, yelling about being a genius.

Gavin paused the game and whipped around, arm over the back of the sofa, to see what was going on. "What's the news, Geoffrey?" he asked.

"The news is: we get to start making a name for ourselves," Geoff declared. "No more fucking idiots wandering around and wasting our immortal lives."

"Great," Michael enthused, putting his controller down. "We get to be fucking idiots walking around with  _purpose_ and wasting our immortal lives. Why is this a big deal? Hurry, my attention span is dwindling."

Geoff gave him a shit-eating grin as he sauntered closer to them, until he was standing next to the coffee table while he addressed them. "Well, pay attention, my friend, because this is exciting," he assured him. "We're going to get off our asses and start training as a team. Starting now, we're making a name for ourselves. Los Santos isn't going to know what fucking hit it when we're through."

"Clarification?" Michael pressed. He side glanced at Gavin, who was hanging on Geoff's every word with equal anticipation.

"Gladly." Geoff brandished the pamphlet, which, upon closer examination, Michael realized was actually a map. "Haven't you been wondering what I've been up to these past few days? Leaving at random intervals, running around town, always keeping hush-hush about it? Well, I can finally tell you, because I've got a plan."

"Fucking Christ, Geoff, just spit it out already," Michael prompted, though he couldn't deny that the presentation of the idea was exciting to him. Geoff seemed to detect this, because his smile didn't waver.

He threw the map onto the coffee table in front of them and said, "Get ready for the best night of your recent, pathetic lives, boys. We're going to pull off a heist."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see ya in a week <33333


	6. the empty lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again a little short, just because I was doing a lot of Halloween decorating today / homework, so I didn't have a bunch of time. Because I've done two short chapters in a row, I'm also going to update tomorrow. <333

Geoff's statement met two rather blank stares. Michael blinked dramatically.

"Was this supposed to be ground-breaking?" he asked bluntly. "I mean, were we meant to drop everything and praise you just for having an idea? What kind of heist? Gold? Gas station? Guns?"

Geoff rolled his eyes. "Leave it to me to be stuck with the two idiots who don't even get excited at the prospects of robbing a place clean," he muttered, dropping his hands against his thighs in defeat.

Gavin shrugged. "Well, it's not like it's anything particularly new - at least not for me." He glanced at Michael, and Michael could see the immediate temptation to prod and press Michael's buttons. He made pointed eye contact with Geoff, hoping that that might ward Gavin off for at least a few more seconds.

"Besides, how the hell are we going to manage to pull off a heist with just three people? We're only at half of how many people we're supposed to have," he argued. 

"We're setting our net," Geoff explained wisely. "If we get a name out there for ourselves, it'll make our others - people like The Vagabond - more inclined to join a steady organization."

"Okay," Gavin said, nodding like he was prepared to take this in stride. "Where are we going to find a steady organization?"

" _We're_ the steady organization, dumbass."

"That doesn't make sense," Gavin decided, confused. Clearly, he had tried to follow one conversation for too long and gotten lost. "We haven't done anything yet."

"Jesus fucking Christ, it's like I'm talking to a pair of fucking rocks," Geoff hissed. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Alright, here's the deal - I am going to pretend the last thirty seconds didn't happen. Then, I'm going to reintroduce the heist. Now, when I do that, you are both going to be incredibly inspired by my ability to plan such a flawless and foolproof plan, and you are going to say 'Oh, Geoff, you incredible, glorious bastard, we could never exist without you, of course we're so excited!' and then I am going to explain the heist to the both of you, perfectly, and once we have all committed it to memory, we are going to perform it splendidly. Any fucking questions?"

Michael pursed his lips. "Can I get a Red Bull from the fridge before we start?"

"Wait, what was the part after you reintroduce the heist?" Gavin asked genuinely. Geoff let out a high-pitched, shuddering breath, and went to the nearest wall so he could hit his head against it.

"On second thought," he announced, voice cracking profusely, "I might need a few more hours before I pitch it to you fucking idiots."

 

\+ + +

 

It was at Gavin's insistence that he and Michael labored their way all the way to the car and out onto the roads of Los Santos. He, apparently, thought it was worth the effort to take a ride down to Jack's, see if Ray was down there, and, if he was, try to persuade him to get them into The Vagabond's better graces. That, and even Gavin could tell that Geoff needed some time alone with a few drinks right now.

Jack was wiping down the counter when they walked in. The room was decently filled, but he caught sight of them right away and waved.

Gavin, grinning, waved back eagerly - nearly knocking out his own eye in the process. Michael decided that, exactly zero drinks in, it was his turn to take over, and manhandled Gavin over to an empty table.

"You're a fucking danger to yourself and others," he said amicably. Gavin's pout was sullied by the goofy grin that never seemed to stay hidden for long - unless he was sporting a look of vacancy. 

"I thought that was why you and Geoff wanted me," he pointed out, eyebrows raised, and... damn, he had a point. Michael grinned to let him know.

"You see him anywhere?"

Gavin craned his neck around the room, eventually coming back with a pout. He shook his head, dejected. Michael, falling prey to the same result, groaned.

"We could've just  _texted him_ , you know," he muttered angrily.

"Nah, I wanted some air anyway," Gavin said, waving a hand in dismissal, then perking up. "Oh! He just walked out of the bathroom! It just goes to show you, Michael, never give up hope!"

Michael rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay, I'll be sure to take those words of wisdom into account, Gavin," he said sardonically, shaking his head. He put his hand up to signal Ray, who caught on and, eyebrow quirked upward, made his way over to them.

"Something I can help you with?" he asked. "You're not trying to recruit me for your little gang now, are you?"

"Not just yet," Gavin assured him. "We wanted to talk to you about The Vagabond." He sat back in his chair, drumming his fingertips on the table, looking around for Jack's telltale Hawaiian shirt. Once he spotted it, he did nothing, and simply turned back to their conversation.

Ray's eyebrows shot upward. "Did you meet him?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah, we fucking met him," Michael growled. He narrowed his eyes at the very vivid memory of a gun aimed between his eyes, then nothing. "Real charmer."

"He doesn't get paid to be charming," Ray said simply. "What, exactly, is it you want to talk about him for? I don't exactly know the guy very well. I probably won't be any help."

Gavin squirmed in his chair. "It isn't even really talking  _about_ him, per se, as it is that we just need you to make him like us, because you have the connection to him," he said, nodding solemnly but speaking stupidly. As usual.

Ray snorted. He pushed his glasses up almost lazily. "Wow," he breathed. "That's just - you guys sound incredible. Are you sure I can't be a part of this stellar, well-thought-out, completely organized crew?"

Michael rolled his eyes. "Listen, asshole," he said, teeth gritted, leaning across the table to better intimidate the man who refused to be threatened, "we've been through more than enough, and we don't have to prove anything to you, so how about you fuck off back to your safe little dealer underworld and leave us to play the real game?"

"Hey, you're the one who called me over," Ray pointed out easily, shrugging. Michael fought the urge to pull a Vagabond and pop him one in the brain. "Because you can't handle making  _one_ connection. It  _is_  The Vagabond, I'll grant you, but you shouldn't be stupid enough to rely on him. He's his own manager - I just pay the bills. So, if you're looking for a team player, I suggest you try a different dive."

It was Jack who broke the tension, arriving with a smile and a rag thrown over his shoulder. "What can I get for you three brooding young men?" he asked, chipper.

The three ordered, Ray only murmuring a soft, "Usual," which left Michael wondering what he planned on drinking - because he seemed entirely sober at the moment. Jack nodded dutifully and swept away, taking most of the bad feelings with him.

"So, have you got any more stupid questions for me?" Ray asked pleasantly.

"Yeah," Gavin said, clearly not picking up on the minimal degree of sarcasm. He leaned forward on the table, his elbow slipping in the process, and nearly ended up hitting his head off the wood. He caught his breath during the moment in which Ray and Michael laughed at him, then pressed on, "I always see you in here, when I'm in the states, but what is it you do exactly?"

Ray regarded him quizzically. "I didn't realize we were doing sharing hour," he said.

"Hey, you know what  _we_ do," Michael argued.

"Yes - nothing. I hope you'll forgive me if I don't find that very convincing," Ray snarked. Just as Michael opened his mouth to interject, Ray continued, "Which is why you're very lucky that I'm just a nice, caring person, who will tell you anyway, because only douches are  _that_ pretentious, and I am not a douche. Well, not that much of a douche. I work as a liaison between the public and, well, people like The Vagabond. Send out a few guys a week, you make a pretty penny. Even at 40-60 cuts, it's  _bank_."

Michael's eyebrows raised, though he tried very hard not to look impressed. "You get paid to _talk_ to people?" he asked. " 'Hey, you want this guy murdered? Cool.' 'Yo, Vagabond, listen up.' That's-"

" _Business_ ," Ray emphasized. "That is business. And I know a lot about business." He leaned back in his chair, pilllowing the back of his head on interlocked hands. "I do take the best jobs for myself, though - that helps."

Gavin gave a low whistle. "Damn," he muttered, nodding appreciatively. Ray looked delighted to have finally found someone who would give him his rightly deserved praise.

"Right?" he agreed, shaking his head at the world as Jack returned and doled out their orders. Michael was intrigued, but not surprised, to find that Ray apparently never wanted anything more than a lemonade in a bar. He didn't know what that was supposed to say about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see ya in a week<333333


	7. the first heist

"Anything special on the agenda?" Jack asked amicably. He leaned on the table with one hand, crossing one ankle over the other. Michael merely shrugged, while Gavin, King of Tact, spilled their bucket of secrets on the floor for everyone to step over.

"Geoff's got a heist planned, but we were minging him off, so we came down for bevs."

Michael practically flipped the table over as he smacked Gavin on the back of the head. "Are you fucking serious?" he demanded. "It's been thirty fucking minutes since he told us and you  _already_ told someone else? It's supposed to be a secret, dumbass!"

"Why?" Gavin asked, mouth agape, rubbing where Michael had hit him. Jack, apparently deciding that he had accidentally opened an explosive can of worms that he wanted no part of, walked away with both hands up. Michael hardly noticed. "I thought the purpose was to get our new name out there!"

"We don't have a name yet, you fucking idiot! Someone could fuck with it, ruin the whole thing!" Michael said angrily. "Do you know how to use your brain at all, or is all of the weight in your head coming from your fucking beak?"

Gavin gave an exaggerated pout. "There was no one to hear it except for Jack and Ray," he mumbled petulantly.

"Yeah," Michael agreed, "and every other fucker in this place!"

"I'll tell you what," Ray said sportingly, setting his glass on the table with a firm clink and cutting the attention away from their argument. He regarded Michael carefully, then Gavin. "The Vagabond has connections - plenty of them."

"What does this have to do wi-"

"That being said, I'll do you boys a solid," Ray continued firmly, looking Michael in the eye to let him know that he wasn't finished. "If you can guarantee me a favor, I can get in touch with The Vagabond. He'll get you anything you need for your heist, and, if you impress him - who knows? Maybe a long, healthy, happy relationship with bloom, and you can get married and honeymoon off into the sunset. Doubtful."

Michael considered Ray seriously, looking from him to Gavin as he contemplated the pros and cons. Finally, he asked, "Can we have a moment to talk about this?"

Ray gave a courteous (yet somehow stillpatronizing) smile and left the table, bowing as he went. Michael rolled his eyes.

"We need to talk to Geoff about this first, obviously," he stated off the bat. Gavin nodded vehemently. "We don't want to owe any favors that might fuck us over." Gavin nodded again.

"That, and we also need to make sure that this bloke can deliver," Gavin said. "You know better than any of us what The Vagabond can do. 'Course, we  _did_ have to drag you back to the car and into the apartment without anyone noticing. That was fun." His beak wrinkled at that last statement.

Michael hummed in agreement. "I'll send him a text," he said, pulling out his phone. It took several minutes for Geoff to reply, but Michael figured that was just Geoff cursing under his breath and choosing to ignore them. When it came back, his stance was clear.

_ Dangerous connections are better than no connections. Suck that kid's dick if you have to, we need The Vagabond. _

"If we have to suck his dick, you're the one who's going to swallow," Michael said immediately. Gavin squawked as Michael waved Ray back, fighting a grin.

 

\+ + +

 

It took forty-five minutes for Geoff to get Michael and Gavin to pay attention long enough to start talking about the heist. All Michael remembered was somebody bringing up Pamela Anderson's career, and the next thing any of them knew, the topic of conversation was whether or not cheese was better on cooked foods or as a side to regular foods. It was only at the sight of the moon shining brightly through the window that Geoff snapped out of it and called them all back to attention.

"Right, idiots, listen up," he ordered, voice cracking. Gavin's shoulders straightened and Michael raised his eyebrows. "You fuckers, of course, are completely incompetent, but, if we play our cars right, we could be walking away with twelve hundred dollars..."

An hour later, Michael was feeling reasonably inspired, but ready for bed. Gavin was pestering him through the bathroom door, impatiently waiting for his turn, and Michael eventually got annoyed enough that he jerked the door open, toothbrush still in his mouth, and scowled.

"There's a special kind of hell waiting for you if you ever die," he growled. "What the hell is so important?"

Gavin seemed very pleased by the continuous reactions he could elicit from Michael and, unable to hide his pleasure, merely giggled. "You've got stuff on your chin," he said simply, pointing weakly. Michael gave a halfhearted snarl and turned back to the sink.

"I don't know why you're immune to my powers of ignoring people to death," he commented, then spat. Gavin sidled into the room and set a small towel on the sink next to Michael. The both of them were already in their pajamas.

"Nobody in the world has ever ignored me," Gavin boasted. He puffed his chest out beneath a thin cotton shirt.

"I understand that perfectly," Michael agreed. "You're so  _fucking annoying_ , it's impossible."

Gavin's smile brightened. "You ready for the big heist tomorrow?" he asked. "I think it's gonna be absolutely top."

"What the fuck it 'top' you need to stop saying that," Michael hissed quickly, then paused in the conversation to rinse his mouth. Gavin seemed content to just watch. Michael wondered where this ability to wait had been thirty seconds ago. Once he had gargled and spat, Michael continued, "Is top, like, gay sex? The guy on top is just really great, so everyone says top when they're looking forward to something. Like getting hammered in the ass."

"Michael!" Gavin shrieked, eyes going wide. "That's not proper!"

Michael snorted, side-eyeing Gavin rhetorically. "I won't tell if you don't. See you in the morning. Try not to die tomorrow." Michael wiped his mouth on a nearby towel and exited the bathroom. He made his way to his room, fell into bed, and promptly went to sleep. For once, his dreaming went uninterrupted.

 

\+ + +

 

Michael could live with owing Ray a favor or two. He had no idea where The Vagabond had procured a  _firetruck_ or a  _helicopter_ for them, but he was impressed enough that he had practically forgotten about getting shot in the head. In fact, the only thing he was thinking was the reinforced need to have The Vagabond join them. It played in the back of his mind on a loop, like a song stuck in his head.

The first explosion was the only one that was planned. Gavin ditched the truck, as previously instructed, and started to make a break for it. He ducked in cover behind the conveniently located building, and Geoff screamed in fear and exhilaration as he detonated it. Michael, meanwhile, tried to keep his footing as he made his way to the door with their spoils.

The next explosion was from the car that had crashed into their road block / firetruck. Michael had no idea how that happened, but it didn't make the sight any less appealing. He saw Gavin making his way toward him on their stashed dirt bike.

"No,  _around_ the store, you fucking idiot!" Michael yelled. He had expected a fair portion of improvisation when things inevitably fucked up, but the bike placement had been important, and Michael was pretty sure he could already hear the cop sirens, somehow, over the ferocious intensity with which his own heart pounded his ear drums. He had never felt so alive, not in all of his life.

Gavin screeched to a halt next to him, looking panicked but excited, screaming at him to get on. And, well, Michael was no one to sabotage a heist. He threw his leg around the back of the seat and held onto Gavin tightly around the middle. Gavin took off down the street, away from their carnage. Distantly, Michael heard Geoff telling them to quit fucking around in his earpiece.

"Where's the car, Geoff?" Michael asked hurriedly.

"And what was the meeting point again?" Gavin tacked on.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Geoff screamed, voice cracking like a madman. "Take your next right, half a mile, then cut over the-  _SHIT_!"

"What is it?" Michael yelled, nearly falling off the bike from how badly he was startled. Gavin, at the same time, shouted, "Geoff!" so loudly that Michael was sure he would never have recovered, were he not in possession of immortal healing abilities.

"Did you not fucking take out the chopper radar?" Geoff demanded. Michael could hear the panic in his voice, chilling him to the bone, a sharp juxtaposition to the heat of the moment he was currently lost in as they pelted down the streets of Los Santos. Not to mention the fact that he definitely wasn't imagining those sirens getting louder...

"I told you it kicked me out!" Gavin squawked, making a sharp turn to dodge a tree that had clearly jumped out right in front of them. Michael clutched tighter, screaming Gavin's name over the assault his heart was making on him.

"No you fucking didn-!" were Geoff's last words. Michael wasn't sure if the feed had cut by regular means or something much worse, but he shouted for Geoff's response for a good minute before giving up.

"What do we do now?" Gavin shrieked. Michael did his best to look behind them. He saw a pair of cruisers pursuing them at breakneck speeds, not far behind at all.

"This is all your fucking fault," Michael growled, holding onto Gavin tightly. "Just lose them, drive faster, Gavin!"

"Michael, now isn't the time to fight!" Gavin pressed. Michael rolled his eyes and spurred Gavin on with a sharp kick to the leg.

"We can kiss and make up later, for now just  _go_!" Michael ordered, but Gavin seemed to have been suddenly distracted by something, because the bike skidded, the tires making awful screeching noises, leaving behind streaks of black on the road. They had been doing so well, when had everything gone so-? 

Michael lost his grip, the bag flying out of his grasp, and the last thing he saw was the careless cop not managing to make his vehicle stop in time.

His last feeling was irritation, and his last thought was that he would make Gavin wash the dishes for a week after this. 


	8. the aggressive aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyooo so im back to having no life which means we're back to finally having stuff happening in this story
> 
> yayyyy

Michael wasn't the first to arrive home. When he, rage-filled and scowling, opened the door, it was to see Geoff angrily banging about the kitchen, and Gavin nowhere in sight. 

"Fucking took you long enough," Geoff growled, glancing up for less than a second before going back to stirring something so fast that it splattered on the counter.

"Sorry, I was only  _dead_ ," Michael bit out. He could feel the rage tight in his throat, jerky in his movements. He slammed the door behind him and kicked off his shoes.

Geoff paused his assault on dinner to glare at Michael dangerously. "Do you know where the fuck Gavin is?" he demanded, the plastic stirring spoon clacking loudly on the counter as he slapped it down. "Since it was your fucking great idea to leave cell phones at home-"

"If we hadn't, they'd be fucking shredded right now, smartass," Michael cut off. "At least now we don't need to pay for replacements on top of everything. You're  _welcome_."

"Whatever," Geoff huffed. "Where is he?"

Michael shrugged. "How the hell do I know? Maybe he made it out. I got hit by a _police car_ before I could see. Maybe they all got distracted by my dead body and let him escape."

Geoff laughed for a solid minute. "Do you honestly think that fucking moron could handle a getaway on his own?" he asked. "There's a reason he always works from his  _laptop_. We needed an extra set of hands - it was everybody's mistake. Besides, don't you think he would be back here by now?"

"Not necessarily," said Michael, shrugging. "He might've needed some time for the streets to cool down before making his way back - if he didn't get fucking lost."

Geoff made something of a low noise to indicate his temper flaring. "Whatever," he snipped. "I'm sick of talking about that useless little prick. Get over here and help me make a decent steak sauce."

Michael felt his rage dissolving subtly at that phrase. He perked up, his voice not necessarily short when he asked, "Steak sauce?"

Geoff gave him a very passionate look and said, "Damn right we're having steak after that disaster. I deserve something nice for myself. Did I say get over here or did I say get over here?"

Michael got over there.

There was a soft knock on the door several hours later. It was fully dark, and there were two uneaten steaks recently set in the fridge. Michael and Geoff were unwinding from their day on the couch, having finally finished bitching Gavin out behind his back. There was an oddly satisfied feeling in the air that immediately dissipated. Michael groaned and got up to look through the peephole.

"Who is it?" Geoff asked without turning around.

Michael groaned and hit his forehead against the door frame. "Three guesses," he answered dully.

"Don't let him in!" Geoff pleaded.

Michael ignored him and, bracing himself, yanked the door open. Gavin stood there, held in place by Jack, who had one hand set protectively on his shoulder.

"I think I found something of yours," Jack greeted brightly. "And I'm only returning him because I know it'll make your hairs gray. That certainly was a  _great_ way to get your name out."

Michael rolled his eyes. "How do you even know where I live, Jack?" he asked, stepping aside to allow them both entrance. Jack didn't remove his hand as he steered Gavin inside.

"Gavin directed me," Jack answered. "I found him halfway across town, wandering the streets and looking like a kicked puppy. Absolutely fucking helpless."

"Yeah, what the hell fucking happened to you?" Geoff demanded, standing up from the couch and twisting around to face the three of them. He crossed his arms, but didn't necessarily look angry anymore.

"Got lost," Gavin mumbled dejectedly. He shrugged off Jack's hand and took a step away, curling into himself in his newly found personal space. Michael suddenly felt a pang of regret shoot through him for talking such shit about him earlier.

"Fine," Geoff conceded, "but what about the  _heist_? The cash?"

Gavin perked up. "Died," he explained, and before he could take a breath, Geoff was losing it.

Michael barely knew what he was shouting about. A lot of it was just his voice cracking and Michael being glad that he had invested in soundproofing his apartment. It didn't take long for the storm to subside, though, because Geoff was clearly already exhausted, and yelling at Gavin wasn't making him feel any better.

Speaking of Gavin, he didn't look even remotely ashamed. His eyebrows were raised, his shoulders slack, his lips pressed together as he waited. Once Geoff had finally gone quiet, Gavin blinked.

"Finished?" he asked, and that nearly set Geoff off again, except for the fact that Gavin was reaching into his jacket and pulling out a wadded plastic bag. "Because I could've given this to you, like, five minutes ago, but then you jumped to conclusions and started screaming piss-all at me." He smiled tersely.

"Hot damn." Jack whistled. "It looks like you didn't  _completely_ fail after all."

Geoff was stunned frozen. His eyes raked over Gavin like he had never seen him before. Then, slowly, his face split into a wide beam.

"Well, I fucking take back every bad word I ever said about you," he praised in wonder. With a look of delighted awe, Geoff came forward and pulled Gavin into an appreciative, fatherly hug. Gavin, unable to hold a grudge, squeezed back, grinning.

"Now, wait a second," Michael interrupted, both hands held up as if that might further pause the scene. "How in the flying hell did you manage to keep that?"

Gavin seemed very excited that he had asked. He tossed the bundle to Michael, miscalculated slightly, and ended up missing by several feet to the left. Michael scoffed, because honestly, he didn't know what he'd been expecting.

"Just before they did me in, the bike hit a mental bump and I went skyrocketing off a hill," he explained animatedly, eyes bright with adrenaline at the memory. "The bag flew up and landed on a convenience store roof. Took me an hour to find it again, but I got it, and by then I had absolutely no bloody clue where I was. I started wandering around, and Jack found me eventually. Once he started to head back to his place, I could tell him how to get back to Michael's, so he dropped me off."

Michael, who had smiled wider and wider at every advancement of Gavin's story, was now beaming. "Well, I guess we owe Jack one for returning our favorite idiot," he said. Jack laughed.

"That means bevs!" Geoff decreed, scooting past them and toeing into his shoes. "We'll make in  _exorbitant_ tab tonight, don't you worry, Jack."

Jack gave a more powerful laugh. "That's exactly what I like to here, Geoffrey," he said, and led the way out the door. On the way to his shoes, Michael pulled Gavin into a one-armed hug, walking with him toward the door like that. Gavin seemed thrilled. It wasn't until Michael looked down at his shirt that Michael noticed the bullet holes riddled through the fabric. Most of the blood was gone now - pulled back into Gavin's body by whatever force supplied them with their endless lives. Underneath the fabric, exposed by the tiny lapses in fabric, was fresh, soft-looking skin. The same thing happened to Michael when _he_ died, he knew.

But there was something different about seeing it on  _Gavin_ that made his spine feel cold, and a part of him vowed to protect Gavin rather than scream at him from now on.

 

\+ + +

 

Jack's wasn't very full that night. Most of its regulars were tucked safely indoors after the debacle of the afternoon, afraid of getting caught up in all the extra police activity. One person who never seemed to give up the scene, however, was there as always, polishing his pink sniper rifle with an expression of deepest disinterest.

Gavin, Michael, and Geoff walked in like a parade of champions. Jack trailed in after them while trying to look like he didn't know them. He shot Caleb a look and went to take his place behind the bar. 

It was Michael, remembering the steaks in the fridge, who thought to ask Gavin if he was hungry. Gavin looked as though the question had just reminded him about the gaping hole in his stomach, and nodded enthusiastically with a very passionate moan. The reaction left Michael slightly on edge, though he wasn't quite sure why.

Gavin stumbled into his chair, nearly hooking his leg on it and breaking his neck in the process. Michael took the seat next to him. He hardly noticed he was smiling until Gavin asked him what he was thinking about.

"Thinking about all the money we just made," he crowed victoriously. "Someone send a picture to The Vagabond and subtitle it: wish you were here."

Geoff giggled. "I'm gonna send a fucking winky face, too," he said, pulling out his phone and the bag.

Michael watched him perform the dare to perfection, snickering like a little shit the whole time. Gavin was making high, squeaky noises, the kind that meant he was being very well-entertained. A seed of self-satisfaction in Michael bloomed at that.

"And  _now_ ," Geoff continued, unraveling the bag as Jack approached their table with a tray of three beers, "we get to take cuts." He pulled out several stacks of bills, one by one, and distributed them evenly. Gavin watched hungrily. Michael rubbed his hands together, grinning. Geoff looked the most pleased of them all - his smile split from ear to ear, and he couldn't stop laughing.

Jack raised his eyebrows at the sight of their haul. "That's gotta be close to a grand, Geoff," he said appreciatively.

"Twelve hundred, my friend," Geoff corrected emphatically. He took a stack of twenties and slapped it into Jack's palm. "That's for your troubles with Her Majesty The Queen tonight. And  _this_ -" He handed over another thin stack "-is for the copious amounts of alcohol we're going to consume tonight, thanks to your lovely establishment."

Jack laughed amicably and pocketed the money. "Damn, Geoff. I don't think I've seen you in this good a mood since you pulled off the Achature Heist." Geoff made a small noise of victory at the apparent reminder.

It was at that moment that Ray approached the table, looking oddly proud. "After seeing the news today, this... is not what I expected tonight," he said graciously. "I've gotta hand it to you. You got shit done, even if you all died. The Vagabond's going to notice."

"Besides, it hardly matters that we all died," Gavin dismissed, waving a hand and sipping a beer. "It's just using the skills we have, innit?"

Ray chuckled and took a seat. "I guess so," he agreed. 

"Jack, how long would it take to get a burger over here?" Michael asked, clapping a hand on Gavin's shoulder. Gavin, once again, beamed at the attention.

Jack nodded responsibly. "I'll get one right out," he said and made his way to the bar and through a back door, which Michael assumed led to the kitchen. He returned a moment later and reached between Ray and Geoff, who were conversing comfortably about The Vagabond, to deliver it.

"Finally, someone taking care of me like proper," Gavin said happily. He dug in without a second thought as Michael chuckled. Jack left to check on the only other patron in the bar.

"You deserve it, buddy," Michael said fondly. He gave Gavin a jovial pat on the arm, almost _petting_ him, seemingly unable to stop himself. "Job well done today, even if I was very,  _very_ pissed off when you were driving. And then after you were driving. And a little bit after you showed up. But now I'm  _not_ mad."

Gavin gave him a dopey grin. "I'm glad you're not mad at me, Micool."

Michael rolled his eyes affectionately. "That's not how you pronounce my name, moron," he muttered, but he was still smiling.

"I think my way's better," Gavin said resolutely, then took a bite so large he couldn't talk around it, so Michael figured the conversation was over and looked back at Geoff and Ray - who both held very knowing expressions. Michael's eyes widened.

"What?"

Ray snorted and turned back to Geoff. "Like I was _saying_ -"

But Geoff's phone went off, interrupting him with a wonderfully trashy pop hit. His eyes popped as he saw it and hissed at everyone to shut up. "It's The Vagabond," he said, then answered. "Hello?"

A beat of silence that Michael hung onto, grousing for any information. He came up empty. Geoff pursed his lips.

"I see your point," he said, but he definitely didn't sound as happy as he had a moment ago. And then, "Fair enough. You want to meet somewhere to talk? Okay. And you won't  _shoot_ anybody this time?" A humorless laugh. "Right. Fine. I'll be there in ten minutes."

He hung up, receiving questioning looks from Gavin, Michael, and especially Ray.

"Was that the call?" Ray asked.

"It was  _a_ call," Geoff answered, cocking his head in a shrug. "He wants a twenty percent cut for hooking us up with the contacts we needed for the heist. I'm going to meet him now. I'll be back late, boys, don't wait up." He began to pull up stacks of cash and stuff them in his pockets.

"Whoa, whoa, wait a second," Michael said, almost standing. "You're not going  _alone_."

Geoff rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the concern, but he promised not to shoot me unless I pull a gun first," he dismissed. "You and  _Gavvers_ stay here and enjoy your night of celebration. You've earned it, or whatever."

For one second, Ray looked hesitant. "I could come, if you want," he offered. "The Vagabond's never fucked me over, knock on wood. I could-"

"You know, I really appreciate how little you guys think I can handle and all, but I'm actually a grown-ass man. I'll see you in a bit." Geoff swung his jacket onto his shoulders and departed.

Michael looked back to see Jack taking his place behind the bar and Gavin getting started on his french fries. He held one out to Michael, and Michael accepted it gratefully.

"Nah, it's cool, I'm not hungry," Ray said pointedly. Gavin rolled his eyes and indulged him with a fry. Ray looked suddenly awkward at actually being taken up on his awkward, but clearly decided not to make the interaction worse by explaining that.

"So, what's new in Ray's world?" Gavin asked, leaning back in his chair. Apparently he'd forgotten about the unspoken Secrecy Among Thieves code. Ray raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, you know. Directing hitmen to targets, living away from the eye of the law, occasionally getting stoned." Ray shrugged and wiped his fingers on his jeans. Michael sat straighter in his seat.

"Directing  _what_?" he asked, just as an array of gunfire broke out from the street, and the bar's largest window shattered.

Completely caught off guard, Michael reached instinctively for Gavin. He pulled him down, ducking behind the chair and covering Gavin with his own body - which was stupid, because neither of them would die permanently from something as simple as a bullet.

Michael glanced to the side to see Ray having mirrored their actions. He was kicking over the table in a makeshift shield against whoever happened to be assaulting them. Michael shepherded Gavin behind it and glanced around the side to glean an understanding of what was happening outside.

Red and blue lights were flashing and-

Dunkelman. Shit. She must have gotten Michael's job, then. 

"Fuck," Michael hissed. "They must have seen us through the window."

"Yeah, and they're probably wondering how the  _fuck_ you aren't dead," Ray agreed testily. "You fucking shitheads are going to have to start being more careful about this. Isn't this the third time this month you've died in front of the cops?"

" _Second_ ," Michael corrected, though he knew that this was no time for bickering. Ray was already beginning to set his sights on their assailants, but Michael was quickly distracted. Behind them, he'd heard a very faint, very weak coughing - the kind that only happened when someone was in an agony so unbearable that they didn't have the strength to draw attention to themselves.

Michael turned and, to his horror, saw Jack, a stain of red painting his abdomen, as well as the wall behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see ya in a week <33333333


	9. the hitman and the catalyst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> why do we always come to 11 PM uploads
> 
>  
> 
> (bc im a lazy shit thats why)

A lot of it was a blur.

Michael was living in the moment that he realized they were vastly outnumbered; it was a minute or two after Gavin had run to Jack, landing a bullet in the shoulder for his troubles. It had almost been a ridiculous sight - like a string wound through him had suddenly been yanked back. He'd groaned, which, while reassuring Michael he was still alive, hadn't exactly done wonders for his heart rate.

He remembered Ray's precise, calculated aim. From the brief glimpse behind him as Michael sprinted for the cover of the bar, he had seen all he needed to to put together the puzzle of Ray's character. Whereas Ray had been cocky and boisterous in personality before, he had slipped into a level-headed surety with his movements that Michael rather thought made the arrogance well deserved. He was certain in that moment that Ray, god or not, was someone their crew needed.

Michael could see Jack from where he'd hidden, crouched over Gavin, who was making a real fuss for someone who'd gotten shot a minute ago. There was a kind of whining in there that Michael didn't think should be possible for such serious circumstances. In a way, it helped keep his head level, even as the whiskeys and gins over his head shattered and splashed down on them while LSPD pressed the attack.

Michael clung to the underside of the bar with his left hand, panting, trying to get his bearings - when he realized that he wasn't clutching the bar at all. He was clutching a wooden box tucked securely in the shelf, flipped open to reveal a pistol. Jack must have been going for it when...

He was brought back to his senses with a harsh kind of ringing in his ears, shouting to Ray that they would never make it, that the back door was their only chance. Consequently, the look of wild disbelief Ray shot him - a look that lasted just long enough for a bullet to graze the hand clasped around the barrel of his gun - was enough to throw his certainties back into limbo.

"Fucking, are you kidding?" Ray hissed, wrapping the edge of his palm in his other hand and tucking them both tight to his chest.

"What about Jack?" Gavin protested. He didn't seemed deterred by the bullet in his shoulder at all, except for the grimace he made at the idea of taking it out later.

Michael, reluctant though he was, shook his head. "There's nothing we can do. We have to get out of here!" he shouted over the echoing gunfire. He was hesitant to pull Gavin up, in case he upset something, but Gavin seemed perfectly pliable, and only gave one sharp his at the sudden movement.

"Why don't we just stay here and let them take us out?" he asked. "It's a lot less effort on our part."

"One: you'll get fucking lost again. Two:  _Ray_ needs to get out of here, too. And fucking three: We can't go parading the fact that we can't die around. Three times a month sounds suspiciously like  _enough_ to me," Michael snarled. "On the count of three, head for the door as fast as you can. One. Two. Three!"

He gave Gavin a little push to help him along, and Gavin made it in the nick of time. He opened the door, slipped through, and shut it in the time it took for one of the cops outside to take aim and paint a line of bullet holes into the wall behind him.

"Ray!" Michael shouted next. Ray's focus snapped to him from behind the table. "You follow Gavin, I'll cover you!"

In the same time as it took to say the words, Michael gripped the pistol from the bar in his right hand and peaked out behind the bar. Ray clearly wasn't going to waste his opportunity arguing, and simply nodded while Michael drew fire. The squeak of the door that Michael hadn't realized became familiar told him that Ray made it so, taking a deep breath, Michael ducked his head and made after them.

The door slammed shut behind him and Michael leaned against it, breathing heavily. Ray and Gavin were staring at him anxiously, though Gavin was sending his concern from the floor, where he lay after knocking over a stand of bottles.

"Are you serious?" Michael deadpanned.

Gavin had the courtesy to look a little sheepish. "I tripped," he muttered defensively, then stuck out his good arm for help up. Michael begrudgingly assisted him.

"Where do we go from here?" Ray asked lowly. Michael looked between the room's three doors. One led to the back parking lot, one to the shot-up bar, and the last to the upstairs where Jack lived. 

"We could try to make it out the back, or we could go for a rooftop escape," he listed, shrugging his apologies at the situation, chest heaving. Ray looked indecisive but resigned to the fight.

"Since we're not fucking idiots, let's check the parking lot for cops  _first_ ," Ray decided. "If the coast is clear, cakewalk. If not, we come up with something else."

Michael nodded as he tried to slow the heavy thumping of his heart. He watched Ray cautiously go for the door, open it a crack, then immediately shut it at the flashing red and blue that painted a stripe on his face. He yanked it shut again with a soft "gaAah" and an exaggerated frown at Michael. A quick shake of the head.

"So... rooftop?"

 

\+ + +

 

The closet in the bedroom had a trapdoor to the rooftop. Michael undid the latch and let it fall, barely managing to catch the ladder as it went. His stomach churned at the idea that this was a dead man's home, dead Jack's home, Jack would never see this room again, it would soon be cleaned out and willed away-

Gavin stumbled into the room, clutching an something small with a black wire to his chest. Michael gave him a look that quite plainly meant  _what the fuck are you doing_. "What the hell is that?" he asked. "Please tell me you didn't."

Gavin shrugged in a placating manner. "He's not going to need it anymore, is he?"

"You're a fucking despicable person," Michael muttered, but he didn't press the matter further.

Ray did. "Apart from everything about that being scummy, do you really think you can manage a fucking getaway without breaking that thing?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

A mischievous grin set on Gavin's face. "Always up for a challenge," he said.

"Ray, you first," Michael interrupted, indicating the ladder as he wiped his upper lip of sweat. Ray nodded and settles his sniper rifle into the crook of his arm, then took the rungs in hand, working his way up to the rooftop.

Gavin stuffed whatever he had looted into his back pocket and took the initiative next. Michael did his best to not picture a scenario in which they were blockaded from every angle.

"Fuck, chopper!" he heard Ray yell, and that was enough to squander that particular hope in Michael's chest. He hurried his way up behind Gavin just in time to be blinded by a bright, white light that should have paralyzed him in his steps. The chopper was stirring up a heavy, artificial wind that whipped Michael's hair back and forth across his head.

"We've gotta move!" he screamed over the cutting of the blades. 

"Fucking brilliant!" he heard Gavin screech - and Michael made a mental note to smack him for that later. 

"There's a five foot drop to the roof next door," Ray told them, looking over the edge of the roof. The small bordering that reached knee-height was enough to obstruct them from ground fire, but there was still the helicopter looking overhead.

That is, until it wasn't.

Gavin was directly underneath the chopper, arm thrown over his face to block the blast, as the explosion engulfed the great machine and pitched it to the side. It was out of the air in seconds, taking two trees and a police car with it. Michael couldn't help the loud hoot that escaped his lips.

"What the hell did you do?" he yelled over the rumble of panic below, though his voice was anything but accusing. Gavin, grinning, popped his head back up. His hair was windswept, his eyes bright, his entire manner so  _familiar_ that for a second Michael thought he could grasp  _all_ of his forgotten memories, just from that one look.

"I may have found something else in Jack's place," he said tauntingly, then brandished a stick of semtex. Michael gave two beats of laughter before Gavin lobbed it high over his head, down to the soon-to-be carnage below, and Michael figured he didn't want to stick around for this one when Gavin's second name was  _Havoc_.

He jumped after Ray to the next rooftop, rolling into the landing, and groaned as his body stopped. Ray was there in a second, helping to ease him up and keeping careful watch overhead for signs of another chopper. The skies, however, were apparently clear, though the sudden repeat explosion made Michael lose his footing once more.

He relied on Ray, who took his weight with a simple, "Up you get."

Gavin was the last to join them, his descent so graceless and unexpected that Michael didn't even have time to worry before Gavin was eating shit next to them. When he looked up, he chin was covered in blood, and Michael was torn between the urge to beat him senseless and pull him tightly to his chest to protect him.

"Are you alright?" he demanded, as he and Ray pulled Gavin up. Gavin spat out a wad of red.

"Tippy toppers," he coughed. "Let's get moving."

 

\+ + +

 

Geoff was back at the apartment when they arrived, watching the news and looking panicked. At the sound of the door opening, he twisted to look over the back of the couch and heaved a great sigh.

"You fucking idiots," he chastised lowly, but in a second he was across the room and pulling Gavin into a tight hug, then Michael, and even Ray, who seemed very taken aback. "It's all over the fucking news, I thought you were goddamned dead again, I - hold on. That - the - the shoot-up was at Jack's, so... so where's Jack?"

Geoff must have been able to tell from the look on Michael's face what his answer was. He looked like he himself had just been shot.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," he breathed, raking his hands over his face. "Not Jack..."

"Geoff, I'm sorry," Michael began, but Geoff shook his head and took a deep, shuddering breath. Michael backed off, gave him the time he needed. In the meantime, he pulled Gavin into the kitchen to try to clean up some of the damage the idiot had done to himself.

Ray was standing hesitantly, hovering just in front of the door. "Listen, Michael, I'll get out of your hair," he said, but Michael shook his head emphatically.

"Fuck that," he said. "The city's way too hot right now. It's a miracle that we made it here without getting arrested or killed. I can find you a pillow for the night."

Ray suddenly looked a mixture of shifty and bashful. "You don't have to do that-"

"Ray, you saved my life fifty times over tonight. Sit your ass down and cool off somewhere. You already know where I live now, it's not like I'm exactly reserved around you," Michael assured him, then closed the conversation by turning his attention to Gavin. He winced slightly at Michael's prodding of his jaw.

"Ow, Michael, don't..."

"You're fucking dumb," Michael said, his level of upset clear in the softened tone he used. "Don't move."

Michael went to the sink and wet a paper towel. When he turned around, Gavin was sitting on his island counter, looking downtrodden and miserable. "You know," he said, "this part is always way less fun than the part where stuff blows up."

"Or the part where you fall on your face from a fucking rooftop? Yeah, makes sense," Michael said briskly, then began to dab at the blood coating Gavin's chin. Neither of them pointed out that Michael didn't necessarily need to be doing this  _for_ him.

It was then that Michael heard the toilet flush.

He looked into the living room with an expression of intense bewilderment. Ray was sitting on the sofa, gingerly testing his wrist, and Geoff in the armchair, head in his hands, both of them stuck in their own worlds. So... who the fuck was in his bathroom? Michael stared at the door, Gavin following his gaze, until their question was answered by its quick and careless opening.

Oblivious to the tense atmosphere of the room, out stepped The Vagabond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see ya in a week <333333333


	10. the catalyst's knock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i just want to say a quick thank you to all of the commentors/supporters of this story, bc its one that i really love and am really excited to share and the face that im getting such positive feedback is soooo integral to the success of these chapters, and overall, just thanks a lot a lot a lot
> 
> that being said, once upon a time....

It was almost immediately that Michael put two and two together. He looked to Geoff, who seemed just as stunned as the rest of them at the newcomer; there was something in his gaze that rather implied he had never seen The Vagabond before.

"Fuck, dude, I forgot you were here," he said quietly. He said it in the way that people on bad sitcoms say when they're trying to keep their parents distracted from something obvious happening right behind them, something only the camera can see.

"Thank... you?" The Vagabond asked, quirking his head sideways, which, okay, Michael was starting to really resent this guy.

The Vagabond was _still_ wearing his mask, something that Michael found extremely fucking disconcerting. And he wasn't even going to  _put a toe_ in the pool of problems that  _The Vagabond knowing where he lived_ raised. Instead, he settled for demanding, "What the fuck are you doing in my house?"

The Vagabond's mask turned to him coolly. "Just now? I was using the bathroom. Before that, I was talking to Geoff about your most recent endeavors. How was tonight?" he asked sweetly, and Michael's hand clenched so tightly around the paper towel in his hand that he squeezed it dry. He would have left a puddle on his floor if not for the fact that he'd been holding it approximately over Gavin's lap, and had instead drenched his thigh instead. He gave an indignant squawk, momentarily forgetting the threat of a serial killer in their midst.

...Their's _gang's_ midst.

Michael tried not to dwell on it.

"Geoff, did you bring him to my  _house_?" Michael demanded, turning instead to the man who was trying very hard to appear invisible in the middle of a room that wasn't crowded at all, but was beginning to feel more and more like a circus as the five minutes that Michael had been home wore on. Geoff made a pained face.

"I wasn't going to bring him back to  _mine_ ," he defended weakly. "Your TV is bigger..."

"Unfuckingbelievable," Michael hissed, throwing the astoundingly-dry paper towel onto the counter next to Gavin. Gavin grabbed for it and dropped it in a shock when he realized that it wasn't just wrung out. It was  _dry_. As though Michael had somehow managed to squeeze every last drop from it, which was impossible. He shot Michael an urgent, quizzical look.

Which Michael completely ignored.

He sidestepped the counter to get into the other room properly, facing head to head against The Vagabond. But, you know, with a fifteen foot gap between them. He wasn't crazy.

"Well, I hope this is fucking proof enough for you," Michael spat. "A good man fucking died tonight because you felt the need to-"

"Because why?" The Vagabond interjected calmly. "Because I refused to associate myself with a band of reckless thieves pulling off a mediocre heist in a vapid attempt at getting recognized by the media? You'll forgive me if I don't find the incentive particularly enticing. And, another thing. The death of your friend is in no way my fault. I wasn't involved with your little stunt. You were the only ones the cops were after tonight. You brought this on yourselves - on Jack."

"Shut your fucking mouth," came the unanticipated voice just behind Michael. He turned to see Ray standing up from Michael's armchair. The Vagabond's mask revealed two sharp blue eyes giving Ray an awfully penetrative stare.

"Ray-" Geoff began, but Ray cut him off heedlessly.

"I don't give a fuck how you finish a job or what you do with the money," Ray began solemnly, voice low from anger as he addressed The Vagabond, "but Jack Pattillo was a  _fucking good man_. He didn't deserve this, and you have no right to cast judgments on something that you said it yourself, you weren't  _fucking involved in_. Maybe if you had lifted a fucking finger for someone other than yourself, for the first time in your whole fucking life, you could have stopped this. Not that you give half a shit one way or the other. You only want someone to sign your fucking paycheck at the end of the day."

Granted, Michael had only known Ray for a week or so, but he had never heard that much disgust in his voice - or in the voice of anyone, for that matter.

"Oi oi, boys," Gavin interjected softly, so softly that Michael didn't even scream at him for interrupting. He was still sitting on the counter, twisted uncomfortably to watch the room's action, his face as bloodied and scraped to hell as it had been when Michael had gotten carried away and left him there. He went back to finish what he'd started, wetting another paper towel as Gavin continued, "There's plenty to be upset about tonight, I know, but while we're on the subject, I say we take a hot sec to cool down and honor Jack with the moment of silence he deserves."

Michael nodded and gently pulled a beer out of the fridge. He set it on the counter as a reminder to pour it out when he next had free hands.

The silence rang loud throughout the room, buzzing in through Michael's ears and pressing in on his brain. Michael was glad that they, at least, could decide on this. The end of an honest man's life... he deserved to be honored, no matter how meager the scroungings that the thieves and murderers could produce.

Through the deathly quiet, it was very easy to hear the knock on the door. It seemed amplified in the tense atmosphere.

Michael frowned and handed the towel off to Gavin, with a meaningful look meant to say  _hold this_. He silently and swiftly moved past the other, patting Geoff consolingly as he went. And when Michael opened the door, he didn't know how surprised he was, in fact, to find that the man to break the silence concerning Jack's death would, of course, be Jack.

"I figured that you guys would be the first people I should come to with this," he said, a weak attempt at dark humor.

Michael heard the stirrings of the people behind him, the whispered exclamations and curses of disbelief. Jack's eye caught the scene over Michael's shoulder, and he seemed to be quite flummoxed at the hodge-podge gathering of people. Privately, Michael rather agreed.

All he could think to break the room's stupor was to offer pointedly, "Beer?"

Jack agreed enthusiastically, so Michael stepped aside to allow him entrance, then swiped the beer he had set aside for... Jack. And then he gave it... to Jack. It was a strange sort of irony.

"How the tables have turned," said Michael as he delivered the chilled bottle. Jack chuckled and thanked him. "Feel free to be interrogated by my freeloaders, now. I have a bruised Brit to see to in the kitchen, but just call out if you need the master of the house."

Jack gave a nod of good-natured understanding. Michael paused just in time to say, "By the way, I'm really fucking glad you're okay, and really fucking sorry we killed you."

The smile he got in return was honest and forgiving. "Everybody makes mistakes. Nobody's perfect. However - you are  _extremely_ fucking lucky that I turned out to have whatever the fuck you have, otherwise I would  _definitely_ be haunting your ass right now."

Michael raised his eyebrows. "That 'whatever the fuck we have' is about to change your whole world, buddy, so sit down and get ready," he prompted. "Geoff's going to fuck your mind six ways to Sunday. Good luck."

He moved to the kitchen where he could still keep an ear out, but he was too exhausted to be directly involved in the conversation. The first part of it was just everyone exchanging relief at the fact that Jack was alive, Geoff most of all, so Michael figured it was safe for he and Gavin to have a private conversation for a moment. He took the wet towel from Gavin's loose hand and finally began dabbing at the bloody mess that had imprinted itself on Gavin's face - the mark of their personal 'one night only, free-trial' of hell.

"I think I'm all healed up, it's just the mess that's left behind, now," Gavin mumbled quietly. He was very relaxed under Michael's attention, not his usual, springy self. Perhaps Michael had finally found something strong enough to take its toll on him. He didn't like that it was a couple of explosions and a gunshot wound.

"Looks like it," Michael agreed in a soft voice. "Wonder why we heal clean after we die but not when it's just a few scrapes."

"Maybe it's something about a fresh palette," Gavin mused, furrowing his brow like his own thought was too intricate for himself. "Like, your body's been so destroyed that it just goes to its last saved point, a completely new package. But when you just get cut up a little, it can still run with the blood that's left, it doesn't have to suck it all back in, so it doesn't bother wasting the extra energy. I dunno. D'you have any juice pouches or something? I've got a bloody massive craving right now, boi."

Michael gave him an odd look at the sudden nickname, but disregarded it just as quickly. "I doubt I have any  _juice boxes_ in my fucking fridge, Gavin," he said emphatically.

Gavin seemed disheartened. He pouted slightly. "Well... could you check?"

Michael made a big scene out of setting the pink-red paper towel down and laboriously rolled his eyes as he walked two steps to the fridge. Inside, shockingly, there were no fucking juice boxes.

"Beer is as close as you're going to get," he assured Gavin. Gavin looked disappointed but nodded his approval nonetheless. Michael popped it open for him and handed the bottle off. He chucked the cap in the trash just as the conversation in the other room began to pick up about immortality and gods and weird dreams-

"Oh, yeah!" Jack cut off, at the first mention of a strange dream. "When I was dead, I think I had one. I... I met a girl named the Informant? I don't know. She said something about knowing me. She called me The Catalyst... I don't know what that means."

Michael took this opportunity to jump into the conversation. "Lindsay talked to  _you_?" he asked. He hadn't meant for it to sound as much like jealousy as it had, but the fact of the matter was, Michael was only aware of her talking to him, or, at the very least, including him whenever she tried to contact someone else. Come to think of it, why had she been giving him radio silence for the past few days? Was Jack her favorite abandoned god now?

"She said she had a message for me to deliver," Jack carried on, apparently not noticing Michael's tone.

"To who?" Geoff prompted.

"To whom," Ray corrected.

"Thanks, Ray," Geoff muttered.

Jack nodded toward Michael. "She says, 'As soon as you get the last one, you know where to find me. We can talk from there.' I don't know what that means, but there you go," he supplied, shrugging cluelessly. "I assume it has something to do with the gang that I am now a part of owing to the fact that I don't have anything else to do considering my  _bar_ was destroyed and I've been biologically roped in with you fuckwads."

Michael ignored the obvious digs at himself and the others in the room. "Why did she want you to tell  _me_  that?" he asked instead.

Jack shrugged. "I asked that same question. Does 'he is the Enforcer' mean anything to you?"

For someone who hadn't planned on getting very involved in the conversation, Michael was pretty fucking involved. He scrubbed at his eyes tiredly. "Basically, we have these second names. They're kind of like code names, and I - Geoff, you explain it to him, I'm fucking exhausted," Michael sighed, picking up where he had left off. He was quite lucky Gavin was being so unusually patient.

"Just a moment," said The Vagabond so surely that half the people in the room jumped, having forgotten he was there, still standing outside the bathroom door, stock still and perfectly steady. "How many of you do you say you're waiting for?"

Geoff gave him a measured look, as though he was still deciding whether or not to trust him. Michael backed up that reservation wholeheartedly. 

"Six," Geoff answered proudly. "Which means we've only got one to go, if you join us or not. We still found you, asshole, so even if you won't help us, we win." He turned back to Jack to begin explaining the concept of their names, but this time, he was interrupted by Ray, who seemed very hesitant.

"And how many people like you  _are_ there? Like, in total?" he asked sheepishly.

Geoff eyed him warily. "Just the six, as far as I know," he said. "...Why? You know someone else you could hook us up with?"

Ray began to scratch the skin on the back of his neck. "Here's the thing," he began, and Michael got ready to either roll his eyes extensively or beat Ray into a fucking pulp. He kept dabbing at Gavin's dirty skin, though, just in case it turned out to be nothing.

"I may or may not have had this job in Malaysia once," Ray said in a measured tone, like a person deliberately implicating themselves as innocent while holding a murder weapon. "While I was there, I got pegged pretty fucking solidly in the chest. All I remember is passing out and waking up in some beach house by the ocean. The guy who lived there said he found me bleeding out, that he was a doctor, that he had patched me up. At the time, I sort of just convinced myself that he was a really good doctor, but... I don't even have a scar."

"You think you're one of us, then?" Gavin asked, which was very difficult with his back turned to the group. Michael was positive that that was the only reason he hadn't been butting into the conversation from the start.

"Who the fuck else would he be, you fucking dingus?" Geoff demanded. He turned back to Ray. "Are you telling me that we managed to land both of our missing members in one night?"

Ray shrugged sheepishly.

Geoff gave a loud hoot. Michael got the distinct impression that they had all better get to bed, because Santa Claus had decided to come early this year, and would be here any minute. "This is the greatest fucking news I've ever heard!" Geoff praised to the ceiling. "We've got everyone we need, we're ready to be the fucking gods we were born to be - Michael, get your ass into bed and get Lindsay on the mind-horn. As soon as you know everything, get back out here and tell us everything."

"Geoff, calm down," Michael insisted, as he wiped the last of the grime from Gavin's cheek and tossed the soiled towel into the garbage. "Tonight's been a huge fucking ordeal. I say we  _all_ go to bed. If Lindsay calls, fanfuckingtastic, I'll write every word she says down. If not, at least we get a break from this fucking awful day."

Geoff looked reluctant, but after several persuasive arguments from around the room, he caved. It was then that The Vagabond made his exit, the human definition of 'overstaying one's welcome.'

Ray claimed the couch, Geoff took the armchair, and Jack called dibs on the guest bedroom. They all settled into a cozy position astronomically quickly, leaving the two left to pick up the trail of how fast they'd moved from point A to point Z. Therefore, it was in the face of his increasingly shrinking apartment that Michael allowed Gavin to bunk in his room for the night, grumbling, "Gonna have to buy some fucking sleeping bags tomorrow or some shit. Didn't know I was renting out a fucking hotel now..."

Nobody seemed to hear him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see ya in a week <3333333333


	11. the vagabond's choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayoo, quick thing lads:  
> im scheduled to be on a plane this saturday, meaning i will be spending a few days in texas. if u have one half of a brain, you will realize that this means it is possible i will not be at my laptop on monday. in fact, that is very likely, due to exciting stuff and things in my life.   
> if this is the case, i will either update this weekend from my hotel or i will update twice next monday. either way, i wont be all out skipping out on you guys. <33333

Michael had to give pause for thought. He almost couldn't believe the optimistic turn his life had taken in the past day. Not only had he  _not_ (permanently) killed Jack, but they had effectively completed their mission.

Or, at least, the first step of it.

Michael didn't want to think about what would happen if they did or didn't get The Vagabond to come along with them. That was an entirely different can of worms that he wasn't ready to face, let alone open. He resolved to bring it up for discussion with the others tomorrow, but for now, all he wanted to do was rest.

Surprisingly, he and Gavin navigated around each other during their separate nightly routines with a sort of practiced precision. There was an easy silence. The kind of silence that made Michael ready for a long night of sleep, as opposed to wracking his brain for something to say. It was comfortable.

"You know, I could share Jack's room," Gav suggested nonchalantly. He was pulling on a pair of Michael's spare pajama pants and cracking his neck. Michael gave him a funny look.

"Yeah, I'm sure Jack would  _love_ that," Michael muttered. He rolled his eyes and stripped off his socks. When he resurfaced, Gavin was giving him a curious look. Michael frowned. "What?"

"I... isn't is weird for  _you_?"

Michael furrowed his brow. Honestly, it  _should_ be, and he knew that. Everything about this should be weird. Not only was a rogue cop in a gang of immortal misfits, but he had, for all intents and purposes, invited one of them to bed. And they were making small talk before going to sleep. It  _should_ have been weird. But it wasn't. It felt too natural to be weird.

It was the strangest sensation. He could only describe it as trying to get back into old habits; it was part nostalgia, part awkward coping with change, part fumbling familiarity with something new. By all accounts, none of it made sense even to him.

"No."

Michael couldn't decipher the way Gavin's expression shifted from that simple syllable, but it must have been an okay answer, because he was suddenly stretching his hands back behind his head and crossing his ankles as he stretched out over Michael's bed. "Tippy toppers, then," he said, grinning, before Michael reached over on impulse and jabbed him in his exposed stomach. Gavin squawked and curled inward to protect himself, going overboard and flailing too much. He fell off the bed ingloriously, and Michael wouldn't have been able to quell his laughter if he'd wanted to.

Gavin popped up from the other side of the bed, groaning and giggling. "Michael!" he chided. He was shaking his head profusely as he made his way back onto the bed. Michael was still grinning as he joined him, sliding under the covers and sinking into the comfort.

He should have felt on edge with a stranger in his bed. He shouldn't have felt relieved at Gavin's presence - like it was something he had been waiting for without knowing it. But he was exhausted, with no reserve energy to spare for thought on the matter. So, when his breathing was heavy and he was halfway gone, it was easy to convince himself that he was imagining the fingers curling into his palm. He pushed through that final barrier and sank into the relief of blackness.

Lindsay, for the first time Michael had ever seen, looked mildly impressed. It must have said something that that was the first thing he noticed, because, rather than the towering golden room that Michael had been expecting, he now appeared to be in a cluttered room that was much less grand. There were tables covered in papers, chairs crammed into tight corners, and a walkway that just barely made it between the room's doors - which seemed to lead further into a sort of house. Behind Michael was a single bookshelf that seemed to protrude from the wall with enough definition that a small space station could surely hide behind it. It was filled to bursting with books and knick knacks.

"Glad you finally made it, Lover Boy," she greeted.

Michael furrowed his brow. "Jesus Christ, don't I ever get a moment's peace?" he asked the great God Almighty.

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Lindsay gave him a sharp look. "Sorry," she said, "I'll just  _wait_  a few days, after stealing a Dream Comm connection simulator and smuggling it into my  _house_. But, by all means, go on ahead tip toeing around Havoc and drinking beer with Boss. I'll still be here - completely alone and without friends - until you're done."

Immediately, Michael felt guilty. He rubbed his left forearm with his palm and quickly apologized. That seemed to make Lindsay feel slightly better.

"So," she redirected, "You've found them all? We're ready to get this train rolling in earnest?"

Michael gave a hitched, hesitant sigh. He shuffled on his feet indecisively. "Listen, Lindsay, I know you miss us and all, but you get that I have more than a few questions, right? Like, I want to have a fucking clue of what's going on before I run around, half-cocked, ass exposed to the world out there. If I'm The Enforcer, shouldn't I have the information I need to  _enforce_ our crew? And, as The Informant, shouldn't that be  _your_ job?"

Lindsay smiled indulgently. "Of course," she agreed. "Sometimes I forget that you don't remember anything. Does that mean it hasn't been coming back to you?"

Coming back to him? What was that supposed to mean? "No," Michael said. "What's supposed to be coming back?"

"Your memories, dipshit," Lindsay replied pleasantly. "You should be getting flashes. Nothing really strong, mostly because you're so far away from home, but  _something_ at least. You can't get  _that close_ to  _five_ bloodmates without getting  _something_ back." _  
_

"Whoa, bloodmates? What the hell is that?" Michael demanded.

Lindsay raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't know exactly," she said patiently. "You guys didn't explain the gory specifics, and I wasn't a part of the actual ritual. All I remember is that we all got shitfaced afterward, and ever since then, you were all inseparable. Not to mention, extremely fucking powerful. Terrifyingly powerful.  _Disconcertingly_ powerful. Seriously, I was getting really fucking concerned towards the end there. You guys were almost impossible to bring down. Let's just say I was really fucking glad to be on  _your_ side of things."

Michael let silence reign for a moment. He wasn't doing very well at compartmentalizing. "So..." he said slowly, "we did something... to make us more powerful? A ritual or something?"

"Well, 'ritual' isn't the exact word for it," Lindsay countered. "But, yes, you did do  _something_. Something that most people wouldn't dream of trying, but hey, that's never stopped you before. Like I said, though - I don't know that details. Just that it involved a lot of blood."

"We told you that?" Michael asked, and Lindsay scoffed.

"No. You didn't change after you did it. There was blood fucking  _everywhere_ , it was a  _nightmare_."

While Michael desperately wanted to press the subject, he couldn't; they were interrupted by Ray's sudden appearance, two feet to Michael's right. Michael gave a startled shout.

"Hello to you, too," Ray groused. He rubbed his eyes. "So I can't even sleep when I'm sleeping, now. Great."

Then, just as quickly, Gavin popped in on Michael's other side. He more than anyone else looked energized, stretching his back and looking around in wonder. He didn't bother with hello or how are you, but instead went straight into a gasp and an excited, "Lindsay! We aren't in the bloody grand gold tower anymore! Does this mean - could we look around outside? Like have a walk about and stuff?"

Lindsay looked like she was trying very hard not to roll her eyes in front of a five year old. "Even if the mere sight of you wouldn't cause a military lock down of the entire planet,  _no_ , you can't go outside," Lindsay explained. "The Dream Comm simulator can only broadcast to a single point in space and time. Outside of this room, you don't exist."

"So I could walk through that door and go back to sleep?" Michael asked, perking up.

Lindsay glared at him. "Weren't you the one who wanted information?"

Raising his eyebrows, Michael asked, "Do you have some, then? I'd like my brain _completely_ shut off for a while, if you don't mind. No visions, no Dream Comms, just sleep."

"You are absolutely pathetic, and I can't believe I'm working this hard to bring you back," Lindsay sighed, but she persisted through his intense stupidity. "I don't want to waste time repeating myself, so we're going to wait a minute while the rest of your crew shows up. Then, I'll get to work briefing you all on a rough idea of my plan."

"Well, I like the sound of a plan," Ray said. "It's a damn sight better than what's been going on lately."

"Ray, you weren't a part of thing until  _tonight_ ," Michael reminded him, but Ray didn't need the reminder. He turned to him and threw his hands outward.

"I  _know_!"

Michael was almost in a mental place where he was no longer distracted by the sudden appearance of someone in the room, but not infallibly so. Geoff was the penultimate to appear, looking around with an expression showing varying levels of bewilderment as he processed the things around him. "What the fuuuuu...?" He spun in a circle to take it all in and let out a low whistle.

Distantly, Michael had the inkling that he should check on Lindsay. She was looking at Ray and Geoff with a muted fondness. "Welcome back boys," she said brightly. "You've missed quite a bit."

"Shit - are you..." Geoff swung his head dramatically to look at Michael. "Is she..."

"Lindsay, yes, you moron. She's also five feet in front of you, so don't worry about actually talking to  _her_ ," Michael said. Geoff coughed and turned to face Lindsay. There was a brief, awkward pause, and then he stuck out his hand.

"Good to meet you."

Lindsay glanced at his hand before she burst into laughter. "Jesus Christ, Geoff. When you get your memories back, you're going to laugh your ass off at this." She took his hand and shook it like it was extremely funny to do so - which, for her, it probably was.

"Shit, that's right, we apparently know each other," Geoff recalled, just as Jack appeared a few feet behind him. This time, Michael was successful in not diverting his attention.

"Long time, no see," he heard Jack mutter.

Lindsay preened at being back in all of their company. "I just wish The Vagabond would quite being such a smarmy prick and open up a bit," she said, clearly frustrated.

Michael scoffed. "We might just be better off without him," he told her.

"Trust me, you wouldn't be," Lindsay assured him seriously. "The Vagabond is crucial. You can't do this without him."

 _What_? Michael felt this sudden urge to stomp his foot and whine like a small child. "What the hell do you mean?" he demanded. "There's no way we can get that asshole to cooperate."

"Well, Michael, I'm very glad you asked," she said. "Seeing as we're all here now, I can finally tell you what I've been planning. Step two, if you will, of Operation: Bring Idiots Back."

"Hey, I'm offended," Ray interjected. "What about 'Operation: Bring Back the Devilishly Handsome Super Cool Guy and Also All of His Sidekicks'?"

"Because I'm all about team spirit, Ray, and I don't want to hog the whole title," Geoff deadpanned. Lindsay smiled and gave pause for laughter, then drew the attention back to herself.

"Good to know that some things never change," she muttered. Then, louder, "Anyway. Like I said, you'll need The Vagabond for this. Since I can't get to him, it's up to you guys to convince him to join forces. I don't care how, just make it happen.

" _This_ one will be the ritual, Michael," she continued. "I'm going to start working on modifying this Dream Comm simulator just as soon as I end this call. I was never a bad engineer, so I should be able to get it up and running soon - this time, as a kind of gateway rather than a video call. But having power on this side won't be enough. You guys will need to be ready in  _that_ realm."

"How do we do that?" Gavin prompted. He was shifting slightly closer to Michael, almost as if he didn't even realize it. Suddenly, it struck Michael that they were here, together, standing side by side, while at the same time, in the real world, they were laying in bed together with hands loosely clasped. It was a very comforting notion.

"We'll have to emulate the machine's power in our own way," said a voice from behind Michael, a voice he hadn't expected to hear, not right now. Not in the Dream Comm. He thought that The Vagabond didn't want anything too do with Lindsay.

The Vagabond stepped out from behind the bookshelf. He wasn't wearing his mask anymore - maybe it didn't translate through sleep, but more likely he had chosen to reveal himself at last. The only reason Michael knew it was him was because of his very distinct, chilling voice.

His eyes were calm and collected, his blond hair neatly combed. He had stubble. It had a surprisingly humanizing affect.

"How the hell did he get here without you knowing, Lindsay?" Jack asked as soon as he saw Lindsay's stunned expression.

"I - I - The Comm is open to all of you guys," she stuttered. "It's like a tunnel, it works both ways. I can leave it open, and as long as I've allowed it, you guys can come freely. But he -  _you shouldn't know that_. How the hell do you know that?"

"And how long have you been standing behind that bookshelf, ya weirdo?" Gavin tacked on.

The Vagabond smiled sweetly. "I can't be the only one remembering our old lives," he said, addressing the room at large after having effectively stolen the show. Michael grimaced at the way he basked in their attention. "Really? Tsk, tsk, you guys. It's all about mental preparation - oh. I get why you haven't caught on yet."

Ray, his mouth open in a kind of admiring horror, asked, "You sick bastard, who even  _are_ you?"

The Vagabond's smile widened. "I suppose it is time that you know that, isn't it?" he agreed. "Ryan. Ryan Haywood. Nice to meet you."

"Wish I could say the pleasure's all mine, but the last time we 'met' you, you shot me in the head," Michael growled. "Why the hell are you here,  _Ryan_?" He took a predatory step forward, angered beyond his usual temper flare, itching for a fight. Ryan seemed to sense this and backed off the slightest bit.

"I was doing some soul searching, as you do, and I realized... Murder sprees are great and all, but wielding all the power in Los Santos _really_ is still a step down from god."

Michael took a step forward. "And, what? Now that there's something in it for you, you suddenly expect us to drop everything and bow at your feet just because you make a dramatic entrance and  _claim_ to know everything? Fuck off."

"Michael, stop that, you need him if you ever want to get back here!" Lindsay said harshly, but Michael was barely coherent enough through his rage to listen. His skin felt like it was physically heating, as though somebody had left him sitting in the sun for twelve hours.

"Michael!" Gavin cried in concern. Michael felt a hand on his arm that immediately flinched back with a yelp. Instantly, Michael's fury vanished, and he whirled around to face Gavin, who was clutching his hand and hissing in pain.

"Shit, Gav, I didn't mean-"

"You're  _burning_ , Michael!" he exclaimed, pointing at Michael with his injured hand. Michael felt like he was being accused of murder in a room full of cops.

"That's normal," Lindsay assured Gavin, quickly and calmly. "He's always done that when he's upset. It's normal, Gavin. He heats up, and sometimes he breaks things." Michael suddenly flashed back to the wet paper towel and the TV, but those thoughts flew from his mind as Gavin flickered once, twice, and then out completely, his face the pinnacle of horror, burned against Michael's eyelids.

"What the fuck?"

 _Michael_!

Michael heard the shout in his head and knew at once that it was the Gavin from the real world. He could feel his own consciousness being pulled from the Dream Comm, ripped away like an apple from a tree. He had to get back to Gavin, had to make sure he was alright.

When he woke up, sweating profusely, Gavin's hand wasn't in his. Rather, both of his arms were being pushed behind his back and up sharply between his shoulder blades. He heard the familiar voice of Barbara Dunkelman hissing in his ear, "Michael Jones, you are under arrest for grand larceny, murder, resisting arrest, and some seriously fucking spooky shit that I'm going to get to the bottom of. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see ya in a week (probably) <33333333333


	12. the interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JK change of plans, we're actually going to do a double night update like last time, so you'll get this one tonight and next chapter tomorrow  
> Apologies it's a bit short - I've got stuff and things and all that jazz, but I don't like not updating  
> <333

In retrospect, Michael should have been fucking smarter.

He couldn't say that he had a lot of experience in being a criminal. Dealing with them, sure. He had clear memories of cuffing and stuffing a hundred bad guys - just not behaving as one. He  _would_ admit that there was a lot of downtime as a cop, and he may have postulated over the semantics of criminal strategy.

Just not seriously.

And, clearly, not enough to fucking realize that the fucking station would have his _fucking_   _address_ on records. 

He was almost glad to be put under lock and key in a private interrogation room - he wasn't sure he could take all the fucking shit Geoff would give him. Though, and Michael clung to this fact like a security blanket, none of them had thought of it either, so he wasn't to fucking blame. Completely.

It was close to four in the morning by the time Michael was allowed some privacy back in his own head. While he was the only one in the room, he was sure that there was at least one person watching him on the other side of the two-way mirror. Still, he was grateful for the appearance of being alone.

Looking in the mirror, he saw the grime on his face from the night's events. He'd been too tired to shower before bed. Now he wished he hadn't put it off. Who knew when his former colleagues would give him a chance to wash up? He didn't suppose Demarais would get him a warm wash cloth just because he asked politely.

Dunkelman walked into the room not long after Michael got very bored with his own reflection. He had taken to belting out show tunes, very off-key, both as a sign of impatience and of resilience. Possibly, she had walked in just to shut him up. If so, it worked.

Michael shut his mouth as the door slammed shut. He and Dunkelman shared a stare that acknowledged their new positions with each other.

"Cup of coffee?" she offered, though her tone suggested it would be cold, and half-suggested that someone would spit in it beforehand. Michael pursed his lips and shook his head.

"You're the new me?" he asked instead, raising his eyebrows and leaning back in the cold, metal chair. Dunkelman regarded him coolly, file in hand, as she walked to the opposite side of the table and sat down. The air between them was thick, like a wall.

"I've been promoted, yes," she confirmed. "Surprised you  _remembered_ me well enough to notice."

She spread the file out, along with a tube of lipstick, a pad of paper, and a pen. She took the lipstick in hand, uncapped it, and began to apply it. Her hands weren't shaking at all. Michael lowered his eyebrows.

"Barbara Dunkelman. I got it on lockdown," he assured her, then leaned forward again. Barbara's hand faltered, but only for a moment. She capped the tube and set it in her breast pocket. "I don't suppose you would let me go with a warning if I tell you what a strange month I've been having?"

"For robbing a bank? No," she assured him. "But, I  _would_ be very interested in hearing about this so-called strange month. It might provide some insight into how the  _hell_ you're alive."

Michael shrugged. "I'm immortal."

"Cut the shit, Michael," Barbara ordered. "We've known each other too long. I don't give a fuck why you went south - we've got you now, that's what matters. The only thing I care about is figuring out how you managed to walk away from three explosions without a fucking scratch. And, I suppose, how you were  _stupid_ enough to go back to your own fucking apartment after the fact. Did you really think we weren't going to search it? That you and all of your buddies were invisible on the couch and in bed?"

Suddenly, an image of Gavin shot into Michael's mind. Where was he now? In a similar room? In a holding cell? How was he being treated? Michael would break his hands to get out of these cuffs if it meant keeping Gavin safe. Besides, they would heal quickly enough anyway.

"Well? I'm waiting. You know the drill. You don't get out of here until you tell me something," Barbara continued. "I might be able to work out an easier sentence if you're willing to cooperate. You wouldn't have to face your buddies until the court date."

Michael actually chuckled at that. He didn't expect to find it amusing, but damn if he hadn't been surprised enough in the past month to take it at face value. The fact that he was choosing a bunch of criminal strangers over his career... Of course, that wasn't his real life, and Barbara and this entire station were working under false memories, so a lot of this was to be taken with a grain of salt.

"Jesus shit, what the fuck happened to you, Michael?" Barbara asked. She almost sounded disappointed. "Do you know how many people have died because of you? Two squad cars crashed. You  _shot_ Ellis, Shawcross, and probably a dozen other  _friends_ of yours - and look at you. You don't even give a shit."

He couldn't help it. Michael shrugged, looked her dead in the eye, and said, "It doesn't compare. Sitting behind a desk, rotting away. I would rather die - permanently - than be back in your place. Maybe you're made for it, but I wasn't. Me? I was made to run with them. They're my crew. You can't understand what we have.  _I_ don't even understand what we have. But hell if I won't defend it until every single one of my last breaths."

Barbara narrowed her eyes. "Have you been taking medication?" she asked, then crossed her arms. "Were you hiding it from us?"

Michael would have rubbed at his temples, but his hands were chained to a table. Instead, he just let out a low, soft hum that turned into a trickle of laughter. It was honestly funny. She couldn't see what was right in front of her.

Though, really, how could he blame her, or any of them? Before he lived it, he wouldn't have believed it himself.

"No, I'm not crazy," he answered at last. He couldn't keep the tone of amusement from his voice. "But do you know what I am? Done talking. Now, I'm going to think about a way to break my crew out of here. Oops."

Barbara's frown turned into a scowl. She leaned across the table, threatening, and gave him the hardest stare he had ever received.

"If you so much as  _try_ to lay a finger on any officer here, I will not hesitate to put a fucking bullet through your skull, Michael Jones," she growled.

Michael grinned at her. "You could certainly try," he said. "I'd congratulate you if you managed it. But, see, the thing is, I doubt you could keep me out of the game for very long. Tell me, Babs - how many officers work here? We both know the answer. Now, ask yourself this: how many of them have survived three explosions?"

"You can't  _keep_  getting away with it," she said dangerously. "All that luck? It's going to catch up to you. You're going to fall on your fucking ass into a fresh pool of blood, and you'll goddamn deserve it."

Michael's grin faded, but his mood was not diminished. "Whatever you say."

He leaned back again, just as the ground began to shake. He heard a distant rumbling, like someone was playing fireworks in his ear drums. Both he and Barbara set up straight, their heads turned toward the door, listening and alert. Another rumble sounded, and Michael immediately recognized it.

That was an explosion. And it was close.

At once, Demarais stuck his torso in the room. He gave Barbara an urgent look, and she was on her feet in less than a second. The two of them were out the door before Michael could shout that it was no use hiding, and that they should probably just evacuate everyone now.

He heard gunshots soon after, and that may have been what killed him the most. Who was out there? Had Ray or Geoff managed to break free and grab hold of... of what exactly? The handy dandy semtex kept in every officer's desk? Fucking brilliant, Michael.

So, who was it then? A supervillain who just so happened to attack the station on the same night their crew was arrested? Did they even know that Michael was in here? Were they coming to declare themselves a mortal enemy of his?

Before his brain could come up with a logical explanation, the door was turning again. In stepped Ray, twiddling a pair of keys. "Sorry about the hold up, buddy. You're free to go," he said, grinning, and walked up to Michael with a bounce in his step.

"Ray? What the fuck? How did you-?"

Ray shook his head and interrupted with a soft, "Not me." He nodded back toward the door, where the one and only Vagabond stood. Mask reclaimed, assault rifle in hand, he looked like he was exactly in his element. Michael couldn't be sure, but he guessed that Ryan was beaming underneath that leather skull.

"Haven't got much," he yelled apologetically, over the gunfire that seemed to be coming from another room. "I ransacked the evidence chests, but there wasn't much. Take whatever you want. There's a tank waiting outside."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See ya in a week <333333333333


	13. the breakout

Michael was freed in a matter of seconds. He wrenched his hands to his chest and began rubbing his wrists. He couldn't stop staring at Ryan.

"What the fuck are you - how did you - why are you...?"

Even from underneath a mask, Michael picked up loud and clear the look Ryan gave him, which obviously meant as  _you're fucking absurd_. "We could sit down and chat about the specifics, if you want," he offered sarcastically. Michael had to remind himself that they  _needed_  Ryan, that Ryan was breaking him out of jail right now. Still, it was semi-difficult to resist the urge to lash out.

Ryan handed Ray his sniper rifle as soon as they made it to the door. Their backs pressed to the surface of the wall, each began to survey the area. While there was still a plethora of gunshots to be heard, the immediate vicinity seemed clear.

"Move slowly and purposefully," Ryan instructed. "This is as much about image as it is about feat. Give them a nice show.  _That's_ how you make a name."

"Since you've got time to talk, maybe you could explain just what the hell you're doing here," Michael suggested. He tried his best to look anywhere but at the blood splatters or bullet holes that decorated the walls. Adrenaline was coursing through him, guiding him to the finish. Well - adrenaline, and Ryan.

"I thought that was a little bit obvious already," Ryan said. "I'm blasting my way through six rooms of cops because you dumbasses didn't think to vacate your fucking apartment."

Michael rolled his eyes and fought  between angry and neutral, landing with a soft growl and a bitter scowl. "I  _meant_ ," he said tersely, " _why_?"

Ryan's tone was very much taking the piss. "Because I have a lot of pity stored away for incompetent fools."

Michael knew better than to say, "Fuck you," when he was being given his freedom back, but that didn't mean he wasn't tempted.

"I got the door," Ray interjected, smoothly turning the conversation to calmer waters. "Michael, the guns are on that table. Go take your pick. Ryan, you ready?"

Planting his feet, Ryan took aim at the closed door and nodded. Michael made a break for the table, choosing an immediate weapon on instinct. He heard the door open by the time he had the gun in hand, felt the subconscious tension of gunfire before the shots began to ring out. Spinning on his heel, he tried to get a hold on the situation.

Everything was happening in slow motion. In the other room, cops, people Michael thought he'd known forever, were switching sides and taking up aim almost as quickly as Ryan could take them out. He saw Geoff, Jack, and Gavin on the other side of the room, planted in the doorway opposite that led to a dark hallway, and something that did  _not_ look like a gun was in Gavin's hand-

Michael's instinct told him to act before his actual thought. He was propped on one knee, aiming down the barrel, and firing before Demarais could squeeze the trigger. Ryan seemed to notice what Michael had prevented, and it was enough to trip him up. He stepped back into the room under cover of the door, locked eyes with Michael, and nodded. Michael nodded once in return. He was breathing heavy. It somehow managed to sound louder than each individual shot pounding against his ears, maybe because it came from within him...

The explosion threw him off. One minute, a normal fight. The next, desks and bodies were flying from the center of the room, a giant burst of fiery light decimating the heart of the battle. Michael watched body parts fly, saw a part of the ceiling collapse, and...

Well, he figured that meant it was time to go.

He saw Gavin cheering, both hands (now curiously empty) in the air, and for one second they made eye contact, Gavin grinning like mad, before Michael was pushing past Ray and Ryan and bolting for the other end of the room as fast as his legs would carry him. Gavin didn't seem to understand what was happening until a second before he was tackled to the ground. Michael was too paralyzed with relief to move after joining back with him that Gavin must have thought this was an attack from aggression.

Michael wrapped his arms around Gavin, and once Gavin understood what was happening, he reciprocated. The gunfire, however, had not stopped. The sounds of war pulled him out of his daze and brought him back to his feet. He pulled Gavin up with him, hugged him tightly once more, and tried to soak in the feeling of seeing Gavin safe like it was something tangible.

The second his hand disconnected from Gavin's skin, something flashed behind his eyes.

It was a small image, like something captured from a forgotten dream. He saw himself in his house, only it wasn't his house. It had walls made from materials you couldn't find on Earth and was piled high with weapons, ammunition, and stacks of papers. Stacks and stacks and stacks of papers. Information on people, places, secrets...

And there was Gavin, in his usual form-fitting jacket and jeans, mid-step, obviously walking in Michael's direction, and grinning - grinning so widely, wider than Michael had ever seen in  _this_ realm. Because he knew, the second he saw it, that this was a memory. This was Gavin... Gavin when... He and Gavin had been...

Michael desperately raked his mind for context. He wanted that image to stay, wanted to cling to it like a leech, wanted to use it to find others like it. Gavin had been smiling at  _him_ like that. He knew that it was a smile of familiarity, something that had come so naturally between them. Something they had lost when all of their genuine, beautiful memories had been painted over by memories that seemed like cow shit in comparison. _  
_

"Michael!" Gavin cried, pulling Michael back to the floor.

Michael heard the swift whistle of bullets over his head, heard them embed themselves into the wall at the end of the hallway. He clutched Gavin protectively, heard Gavin scoff at the gesture.

"Someone might forget that  _I_ saved  _you_ ," he said petulantly. Michael shook his head, grinning, and kissed Gavin's temple before standing. It was like the most natural thing in the world. His breath didn't even hitch when he stood to rejoin the fight.

"If you two are done fucking making out," Geoff yelled over his shoulder, "we should probably get the fuck out of here."

"That's what you call making out?" Michael asked. He brought his gun back into the ready position, feeling it come to him as naturally as breathing. "No wonder you don't have a girlfriend. Do you equate toothpicks to dicks, too?"

"Just yours, my friend."

Michael tried to assess the situation. He saw Dunkelman, huddled against the wall, partially hidden by a pile of flames and a desk in the center of the room, and bleeding severely from several places, still firing at Jack with her pistol. A few other officers in similar condition were aiming either this way or toward Ryan and Ray, who were mowing down the numbers with alarming rapidity.

"It's going to take LSPD fucking _month_ _s_  to recover from this shit!" Geoff crowed.

"We gotta get them over here," Michael yelled, gesturing to Ryan and Ray. "The way out is down this hallway!"

"Shit!" Jack screamed, followed by the sound of a more prominent gunshot. He turned back, looking mildly panicked. "We've got SWAT on the way, and helicopters! I heard it on his radio."

The other three simultaneously cursed.

Michael waved rapidly to get Ray's and Ryan's attention. "We've gotta move!" he screamed. "There's no way out over there!"

"Ray! Go! I'll cover you!" Ryan shouted. Ray tucked his gun away and transitioned into a sprint, halving the distance, closing it, nearly making it-

"SHIT!"

He stumbled and tripped over his own foot, then fell into Geoff's stomach and knocked the both of them down. Ray was curing all the way, grimacing and groaning and muttering  _something_.

"She what?" Michael asked.

" _She shot me in the ass_!" Ray screamed at him.

"Oh, for the love of God!" Geoff groaned. He hoisted Ray off of him and up into a fireman's carry. "Cover Ryan! Meet up at... shit... Meet up wherever the hell we all decide when we make it out of here not dead! Lay low, take a day off, we'll reconvene! Shit!"

He ducked away from another close-shave aim from Dunkelman then took off down the hallway.

"First left!" Michael shouted after him, because he knew that none of the others would know their way around the station like he did. He would have to remember to thank the people who had viciously betrayed him for the accurate and thorough understanding of this place they had given him.

"Ryan, you next!" Jack yelled. Ryan bolted, aiming over his shoulder and nailing Barbara in the chest. Michael blinked harshly but didn't flinch. She was the enemy, after all. The fact that he had vague memories of her telling awful puns at barbecues meant nothing. He had a job to do, people to save, and, most importantly, Ray's ass to avenge.

Ryan made it without the qualm of a bullet between the cheeks. He took cover behind the corner and waved Michael and Gavin out.

"I'll escort Jack! You two go! Split up, lay low for the night! And, for the love of God, try not to fucking die!" he yelled, without looking behind him. Michael found that he rather appreciated Ryan when he was too distracted by imminent death to be his normal self. He pulled Gavin along by the wrist and, together, they went to find a place to hide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see ya in a week<3333333333333


	14. the hiding place

Michael should have guessed that 'not dying' entailed a close encounter with SWAT teams before hurriedly ducking into the least conspicuous door possible.

Which happened to be, essentially, an industrial storage closet. An abandoned storage closet. There were metal shelves, a couple of empty cardboard boxes, some broken shit lying around on the floor, and what was pretty much enough room for Michael and Gavin to stand next to each other without standing on each other's toes.

The only door was the one that lead outside, which, no big deal, was swarming with SWAT members.

"I don't think there's a snowball's chance in hell they won't find us," Michael muttered angrily. "See if you can find a ladder or something. Maybe we can get to a roof or the basement."

"If we go to the roof, they'll see us with their choppers," Gavin argued. "And if we do much more than stand here, I'm absolutely positive I will  _bugger_ us. They might not hear us talk, but they will definitely hear the sound of metal shelves falling over, Michael."

"What, you want us to just stay here while they're on a fucking manhunt?"

Gavin shrugged. "It's not the worst idea in the world," he mumbled. "One tiny, unassuming door in all of Los Santos. They're all over the place, they'll probably overlook us like  _that_." He tried to snap his fingers to indicate how much  _that_ was but only managed to flick Michael in the eye with his thumb.

"You fucking idiot," Michael hissed, doubled over as much as he could be in what was sure to turn into the world's smallest boxing ring. As Gavin began to hurriedly apologize, Michael hissed, "Shut up!" He covered Gavin's mouth with his hand as the thundering sound of what could only be a squad's footsteps passed by just outside. Michael's eye was watering, and he nearly shat himself, but somehow, the door never opened. After a good three minutes of quiet, Michael dropped his hand again.

"Sorry Mich-"

"Not a fucking peep," Michael dictated. "We're just going to sit here, quietly, until we are either shot to death, or until the coast is clear."

Gavin nodded, and for a moment, Michael's brain had peace. Or, as close to peace as it could get while hearing the occasional spurt of gunfire in the streets.

"Want to play truth or dare?"

"I'm going to fucking murder you, Gavin," Michael deadpanned. "We're stuck in a fucking one by one cupboard with SWAT team on the other side of that door, and you want to play fucking truth or dare? Fuck you."

Gavin muttered petulantly, "It was just a suggestion."

"Oh, it was just a suggestion? I've got a suggestion - a suggestion of what you could write on your fucking gravestone when they hear you talking and bust this door down, then shoot us both to fucking death: Here lies Gavin, a stupid fucking idiot, though not for very long because he just  _needs_ to make the cops more and more suspicious of the fact that we aren't fucking dying."

"You're funny, Michael."

"I know I am. Shut your fucking mouth, now, asshole."

"Okay."

And so Michael sank back into his thoughts. Getting arrested by Dunkelman. Watching her take a bullet to the chest. Escaping. He'd escaped, he'd really done it. They had everyone they needed now, even The Vagabond. And, what's more, Michael pretty much liked them  _all_. That was something he wasn't used to. He could see himself getting along with these people - regarding them as brothers, even. It was a comforting thought.

He could picture them getting away with heists, toasting to their victories through the cool down period. He could also picture cool downs like this. Stuck in a fucking bird cage. At least he was with Gavin. When he wasn't talking nonsense, Michael loved being around him. Just being in his presence, really, was helping to reduce how high strung he was.

Gavin's hands were at his sides, but he was fidgety. He kept glancing all around, nervously, trying to spot a flaw in the plan. Michael thought it would be pretty fucking easy to help him, because there were  _several_.

He didn't make his staring obvious. The lighting in there was dim enough, meaning there was barely any, but his vision had adjusted enough to see Gavin's outline, and the brightness of his eyes. And, suddenly, all Michael could think about was the image he'd seen, stuck in his mind as if by glue. All he could see was Gavin. It was that thought that kept him sane during the quiet.

After forty-five minutes, Michael felt like he was going to keel over if he couldn't sit down. His muscles were burning, and Gavin wasn't making the situation any better, constantly kneeing Michael as he attempted to massage his calves.

"Shit, okay, we've got to fucking coordinate this," Michael muttered, breaking the long silence. "If I have to stand next to you for five more seconds, I'm going to break your head apart in my hands."

Gavin vehemently agreed. It was getting difficult to breathe, let alone move. Neither could take much more of this.

"If I move my foot here, shit, ow, shit. There's a screw sticking out of the shelf, watch out for it," Michael groused. "Here, just rotate with me, and try-  _ow_! See, if you'd let me finish that fucking sentence, Gavin, I would have said  _try not to step on my fucking foot_."

"Oops! Sorry, Michael."

Michael gave a small growl of frustration as he tried to navigate them through the closet. In his mind, it worked out perfectly. He just had to shift so that- " _Ow_! Jesus _Christ_ Gavin, you're a fucking _menace_."

Though Gavin apologized again, the situation didn't look much better.

"Okay, put your back to the door," Michael guided. "Then I'll sit with my back to the shelf. If they open the door, the light will fall on me and they'll shoot me first. You'll have like two seconds to, I don't know, bash your head against their legs, roll out, and make a break for it."

Michael had heard Gavin's gasp of horror as he'd spoken, but he hadn't really registered it. "What, are you bloody crazy?" he demanded. "Switch spots with me, then. There's no way I'm watching you  _die_ right before I get shot."

"Gavin, it's not even real, I would be fine in, like, three hours," Michael reasoned.

"Well, yeah, but it's still a bleedin' terrifying thing for me to see, innit? I don't want to watch you  _die_ , ever!"

"I don't want  _you_ to die, either, asshole, that's why I'm putting you near the door," Michael said.

"As if I could make it ten feet without getting bloody mullered," Gavin scoffed. With great difficulty, he crossed his arms.

Michael groaned. "Fine. Fucking fine, if you want to shelf digging into your back, be my guest," he invited. "Let's keep rotating then. Come on." They danced around each other for a minute or so, shuffling and cursing and readjusting as they went.

"Ow, that's bloody screw," Gavin hissed, as he finally lowered himself into an uncomfortable sitting position. Still, the relief was palpable, and Michael let out a quiet moan of relief as he join him.

Their legs were tangled together and the claustrophobia was awful, but at least their asses were doing the work now. Michael could sing from the release. They sat that way, together, for an indefinite stretch of time. Michael may have fallen asleep for a moment, but it was difficult to stay that way. Apart from the cramped position, Gavin kept rustling around and readjusting. Whatever he moved jostled Michael.

After what felt like days, Gavin broke the silence.

"Michael, I've got a question for you," he said quietly. The tone, if nothing else, was enough to make Michael suspicious. He didn't say it like Gavin normally said things. He said it like he was asking permission.

"Okay boi, shoot."

For what was probably the first time ever, Michael saw Gavin hesitate. Now more worried than suspicious, Michael was listening intently. "Back there, in the station, did you see the thingy too?"

"What thingy?" Michael was pretty sure he already knew what thingy.

"The picture thingy. Did you see you?"

Michael's brow furrowed. "I didn't see me, I saw  _you_ ," he said. "Did  _you_ see  _me_?"

Michael thought he saw Gavin's shadow nod enthusiastically. "We were in a house. We, er, lived together, and... and that's really it. It was just a moment of us two together."

He had to take a moment. Michael understood. The power of the memory was overwhelming. Michael played the snapshot instant over again in his mind. Gavin's bright grin. He clung to it as though it might fade the second he stopped thinking about it.

"You've seen stuff like this before, haven't you?" Michael guessed. "That's why you keep tiptioeing around me. You know something that I don't."

For a second, Michael thought he heard Gavin give a soft snort. "I mean, if it wasn't obvious."

Brow furrowed, Michael asked, "What the hell does that mean?"

Gavin shifted restlessly. Michael saw that the shelf was already making him more uncomfortable. "Look, I don't want to tell you, I want you to figure it out on your own. It's just best that way. I think."

"Okay, well I choose the way for me to figure it out on my own is by you telling me. Now. Spill it, prick," Michael said. He gave Gavin a light kick in the foot.

"And, what, you'd just take my word for it?" Gavin asked dejectedly. Michael couldn't believe that he was actually hearing _hurt_ in his voice. "You think I haven't thought about telling you every day since the moment I walked into Jack's? It's all that's been on my mind, Michael. But, nah, you wouldn't believe me if I told you. I know that. So it's best if I just wait, so that way I don't look a goddamn fool."

Whatever it was, it had to be serious. Michael had never seen Gavin anything but a bumbling goofball with a penchant for destruction. "Look, Gavin, I promise, okay, I swear - whatever you tell me, I'll believe you. I just... I  _need_ to know. I'm going on blind  _faith_ here, and while I know it's enough, I _want_ more, I want to  _know_ what I'm dying for every other day."

"Fine," Gavin said dully. "You want to take advantage of the fact that I can't help telling you? Fine. We're together. Or, we're supposed to be."

Michael's eyebrows shot upward. " _Together_?" he asked, like he couldn't believe it, because, in a way, he couldn't. Of course, now that Gavin said it, it  _was_ obvious. How could they not be? The lingering looks, the extra connection, the images... 

Christ, they'd lived together.

Michael's phone buzzed in his pocket at the worst time. He pulled it out with great difficulty, the light stunning his eyes and making him groan. Gavin barely reacted. In fact, he was unusually, worryingly quiet.

_From: Goeff_   
_Meet @ VINEWOOD when coast is clear_

"Who is it?" Gavin asked. His voice was flat and emotionless.

In a split second, Michael made his decision. "It's no one," he answered, then reached out until he had grabbed hold of Gavin's arm. It was difficult to maneuver, but from the light of his phone, he could now see, at least. He could see Gavin's confused look of misery.

"I get it," Michael told him. "We're together, yeah? I get it."

Something flashed in Gavin's eyes, reflected from the phone light. He looked hopeful again, and he was grinning before he could help it. Michael grinned back. He glanced down as his phone and tapped out a quick message to Geoff.

_To: Goeff  
_ _Can you get on the news? How's SWAT looking?_

"We're almost in the clear, Gav," Michael said. Right now, it seemed impossible not to kiss. But, well, they couldn't. Knowing Gavin, they would probably die in the process. His phone buzzed again.

 _From: Goeff_  
Fanned out across downtown. It's a manhunt.  
Don't get caught with your pants down.

_From: Goeff  
And I mean that literally, you horny prick._

"Listen," Michael said. He pressed his ear to the metal door of their makeshift hideout. There were no sirens, no gunfire. SWAT must have spread out enough that they could make a break for it.

"I don't hear anything," Gavin said.

"Exactly," Michael hooted. He gingerly poked at the handle, then shifted the door open a crack. Brilliant afternoon sunlight beamed into his eye. He recoiled, but didn't make a scene of it. Outside, he could see the street. There were a couple of officials, but they were sitting in cars, absorbed in files and phone calls. Michael knew the area. He was confident he could escort Gavin to safety.

"What's out there?" Gavin asked.

Michael slowly, carefully opened the door. A streak of gold fell behind him, and he turned to see Gavin bathed in angelic sunlight. He had never been a man to believe in destiny, but this time, it seemed like an omen.

"A whole new world, baby. A whole new world."

He helped ease Gavin into a standing position, then, now that the moment was perfect, brought him in close. A breath of shock escaped Gavin Michael pulled them chest to chest. He was staring at Michael's lips, and  _oh_ , that was hot. Without wasting time, Michael sealed it, and Gavin seemed just as eager. He practically melted in Michael's arms, and damn him if that wasn't the best feeling he'd ever had.

It felt nostalgic, it felt beautiful, it felt  _right_. Michael bit Gavin's lip, and Gavin nipped at Michael's jaw. It was like falling back into an old routine, like they'd been doing this forever. He felt free from stress and worry and pain.

Somehow, they'd made it through that, even  _with_ Gavin's awful bad luck. And, oops, Michael might have said that last part out loud, because Gavin-

Well, Gavin  _tried_ to frown, but he couldn't quite manage it. He ended up shaking his head and grinning, then going back for another kiss. It was at this point that Michael remembered there was an open door right behind them, with several cops waiting outside, and Michael and Gavin may or may not have made America's Most Wanted last night.

So, reluctantly, Michael pulled back. New mission in sight, he took Gavin's hand in his. It was just as comforting as a connection of lips.

He turned back to the brilliant sun and said again, "A whole new world."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see ya in a week <33333333333333


	15. the fake AH crew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoopsie daisy, I nearly forgot today was Monday, so it's going to be a bit of a shorter update to ease back into the story. Also, explanation for absence last week: Nanowrimo. Im a winner. Took a well deserved break. Thats all.
> 
> As always, <3333 for all of the lovely comments/support

For once, they didn't hotwire a car. 

Michael's shitty garage was subject to search just as much as the rest of his shitty apartment was, so he knew that they couldn't smuggle even the beat up pick-up he'd driven all through his late teen years from inside. Gavin's car, however, was coyly parked just a block away from Michael's. It was a hideous, purple, bent-to-hell thing, but Gavin looked at it like a loyal pet. He tossed the keys to Michael.

"What? Fuckweed, did you forget whose car this was already?" Michael asked.

Gavin gave him a slightly patronizing look. "No, you dope," he explained, sliding over the hood and stumbling to catch himself on the curb. "I just bloody hate driving. I'm awful at it. I don't like to do it when I don't have to - especially not in the colonies."

"We're not your fucking colonies, and we haven't been for, like, three hundred and fifty years. If you say that again, I will kick you so hard that your dick will turn into a tampon," Michael growled. Nevertheless, he unlocked the car door and slid into the driver's side.

There was a moment of hesitation once the doors had shut them both into another confined space. While there was arguably more leg room, Michael was in no way less aware of Gavin's proximity to him.

The inside of the car was no more charming than the outside. The seats were made of vinyl, which would have been nice, apart from the fact that it was massively cracked just between Michael's shoulder blades. The steering wheel was rubbed raw. It left black bits of chaffing on Michael's sweaty palms. While it was well-used, it didn't seem to be in terrible shape. The gear-shift was worn, the petals were eroded, and the lights on the dash barely worked. It felt like Michael was being cradled by a death trap.

A part of him loved it. Another, more dominant part of him wanted to scream at Gavin that he wasn't sure giant pieces of shits were actually mobile. 

Gavin didn't seem to notice Michael's pause until a full minute had passed, and they were still only sitting there. He turned away from the window, eyebrows cocked upward.

"Something wrong?"

Michael swallowed. "No, you prick." He leaned over, kissed Gavin once, and started to drive.

 

\+ + +

 

VINEWOOD was a long drive out of town. It was even more annoying that they had to be inconspicuous about it. Michael felt like a soccer mom, using his blinker and looking both ways and coming to full stops.

And it became a bad day on all accounts. As the morning wore on, Gavin turned quieter, more withdrawn. He stopped making eye contact and laughing at Michael's jokes, and Michael couldn't fathom why. Eventually, they lapsed into surly silence.

Was it something Michael had done, said? He didn't remember anything too forward or too careless. Maybe Gavin was just tired. It had been a tough night for both of them. Michael's adrenaline was certainly on its last dredges. He was having a difficult time keeping his eyes open. Maybe Geoff or Jack would drive him back to wherever they were going, and Michael could curl up in the backseat and get some shut eye.

It felt very prestigious, rolling up to the bottom of the D. Like a proper heist. VINEWOOD was unreadable from the angle. Michael wanted to piss on it.

Gavin was still quiet when he stepped out of the car, even when Geoff threw his arms around him and exclaimed how glad he was that he was safe. Gavin sunk into his embrace, like a small child falling into a parent's lap - or not. Actually, he looked startlingly _not_ childlike. In fact, he looked exactly like a worn-down, stressed out young man relieving the burdens of the world into the older, wiser generation. Michael's frigid heart warmed at the sight.

"You alright buddy?" he heard Geoff ask quietly, clearly not intended for Michael's ears. But Michael desperately needed to know the answer, so he listened to Gavin say "Yep" anyway. It was a very lackluster yep.

"We the first here?" Michael asked, kicking a stone down the side of the dry, dirt-whipped mountain. It rolled and bumped for a long while before snagging on a larger rock. 

At the reminder of another member of his crew here, Geoff released Gavin. He pulled Michael into a similar hug, and Michael was surprised by how tightly they clutched each other. He didn't know why. It made sense as soon as it happened.

"Glad you're okay, buddy," Geoff said, then pulled back. "Jack is here, too."

He gestured to a black, expensive-looking car parked at the end of a dramatic streak of tire tracks. Jack was inside, talking on the phone and waving to Michael was an exaggerated smile.

"So we're just waiting on Ryan and Ray," Michael finished, and Geoff nodded. Decidedly okay with down time, Michael went behind the second O of VINEWOOD and unzipped his pants.

By the time he was back, Gavin was leaning against the hood of his shitty death trap. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of a black hoodie, which he must have pulled from the depths of aforementioned death trap. He looked oddly serene, which was a word Michael would never have thought to associate with Gavin Free.

Gavin hadn't noticed him yet - he was too stuck in his own head. Michael took a moment to look at him; at the subtle dips of his body's curves, the way his lean, slender form hugged itself. He was curled into a small, self-comforting stance, his lips drawn together and his eyes far away.

Michael's brain stopped thinking about it, and his heart took up the job instead. It thudded slowly, calmly, as though Michael was looking at something he'd seen a thousand times before. Which he was, and he knew that, but the fact that he didn't remember it made it seem like it wasn't real. He realized that he was getting the chance to fall in love with Gavin for the first time again, which was something he'd always wished he could do with his favorite movies. So maybe this was only 98% bad.

Geoff was rummaging through the trunk of the other car, a good thirty feet of distance between them. He may as well have been on another planet.

"Gav, what's going on?" Michael asked, before he could stop himself on the grounds of  _I don't want to get yelled at by Gavin_.

Gavin looked up at him, startled, as Michael drew closer. He shuffled an inch away, seemingly without noticing. That might have been the part that made Michael upset.

"Leave it, Michael, there's nothing," he mumbled.

Michael rolled his eyes, more out of habit than actual annoyance. "Yeah, see, thing is, dumbshit: people don't say 'leave it' and 'it's nothing' in the same sentence, because that's completely contradictory, which obviously means you have something to hide, so spill it."

Gavin's sullen look was replaced by confusion. "I'm not sure you just said words."

"The point stands." Michael didn't break eye contact, though Gavin hardly stared at anything other than the dry dirt whipping around their ankles.

He would have pressed the subject, if not for the fact that a shit-brown car was currently rocketing toward them at break-neck speeds. Michael grabbed Gavin and pulled him behind the hood of the car, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and shielding him from the onslaught of pebbles and dirt that flew over them with that dramatic entrance.

Ray and Ryan parked their car in between the two others.

"You assholes!" Michael shouted, giving them the finger before they had opened either door. Ray was grinning proudly from behind the wheel.

"Hey, if we're going to be late, we have to make an entrance!" he declared, arms wide as he stepped out.

"Yes, but you don't do that by  _killing your crew_ ," Michael yelled viciously. He stepped away from Gavin, approaching the car with all in intent in the world to punch it, but when he got there... He just stopped. Something about seeing them all together quelled his rage. He supposed there was a first time for everything.

Geoff and Jack were jogging up from the black car, both of them looking eager and impressed. Geoff didn't hug Ray or Ryan, so Michael figured it was okay to feel special, just this once. 

"Glad everyone's alive and well," Geoff pronounced, welcoming them all with a sweeping gesture. By mutual agreement, they stood in a semi-jagged circle, Jack and Geoff squinting against the harsh sun.

Ryan said, "Not for long. I think Michael is going to kill us himself."

"Not after all it fucking took to survive that shit last night," Geoff declared, wagging a finger at Michael.

"Yeah, I don't think my ass could take the strain of pushing out another fucking bullet. Do you know how long the last one took?" Ray said.

Ryan shoved his head into his hands and let out the groan of a man who has suffered more than mere mortals could imagine. "Three. Fucking. Hours. I'm surprised I didn't put a bullet in his damn  _head_ just to shut him up."

Michael snorted.

"I'm very appreciative that you were generous enough to let my ass bleed all over your couch, Ryan," Ray said sweetly. Ryan picked his face up just so Ray could watch him roll his eyes.

"Damn, I thought taking Jack back to my place was tough luck," Geoff laughed.

Michael groaned. "Are you kidding me?" he asked. "You fucks got houses? That's fucking five stars compared to me and Gavin! We've been stuck in a fucking industrial broom closet for like 6 hours."

It took a while for everyone to stop cackling at them.

"You idiots are too much to handle," Geoff mused, wiping a tear from his eyes. Michael scowled at him, at them all. He had never felt so betrayed.

Jack reigned them all in with a whimsical, good-natured, "So, what comes next, Geoff?" It took Geoff a rather long minute to realize that he wasn't talking about Michael and Gavin anymore.

"Oh, shit. That. Right," Geoff said, clearing his throat and falling into his Boss persona. He straightened his back and regarded them all with a lazy, subtle authority. "The priority is keeping in touch with Lindsay. She's our ticket back to wherever the hell we came from. Ryan, in the mean time, is going to teach the rest of us halfwits how to channel our mojo from Godsville. And until we get the okay to make like E.T. and fly home, I say we rob Los Santos dry."

Jack regarded him quizzically. "You still haven't come up with a name, though," he reminded Geoff. Geoff seemed quite annoyed by this technicality, so Michael took control of the conversation.

"Well,  _Lindsa_ _y_ said... something. I don't remember. Fake AH Crew? It was weird like that. I'm pretty sure that was it," Michael told them. "Or, at least, that's what it used to be."

The others grinned. Geoff slapped a label on it, and it became their name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see ya in a week <333333333333333


	16. the talk with dad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess what happens after this chapter?????/  
> shit!!!  
> shit finally happens!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
> yaaaaaaaaaay we're getting to the part where the story has story stuff!!!!!!!!!!!!

It took close to two months for the Fake AH Crew to sort itself into something with a flow that everybody involved could tolerate. During that time, Lindsay insisted that she was getting things ready back home, that these things didn't happen at the snap of a finger your impatient motherfuckers, that Gus had been like a fucking hawk ever since a Dream Comm machine was stolen. It didn't help that it was too big to fit anywhere but in her bedroom.

For the most part, Michael didn't mind. He had enough to occupy himself on Earth. There was the thrill of the game, for one thing. He had died maybe a dozen times since the inception of the fake AH Crew, and was still up and running, a miracle of flesh and possibly-science.

The memories started coming back, too. Not many, and not close together. Usually just before he went to bed, or while he was dreaming, so they were very hard to remember when he woke up.

He was nowhere near as good at remembering as Ryan, who seemed to be a fountain of knowledge on the subject. Whenever a question arose, he popped in with an offhand comment, "Oh, by the way, Michael, your anatomy makes it so that you heat up when you're angry. Gavin, you trip so much because you're a force of destruction incarnate, and that sort of follows you around everywhere." And when everyone in the room screamed at him that these things would be fucking useful to know, he would just shrug and say, "It didn't come up."

He had since started making a list as these facts occurred to him, however, so Michael couldn't say that he wasn't trying.

They operated out of Geoff's house now; a one-story, nice-enough, inconspicuous dig in the shadier part of the suburbs. The windows were usually kept drawn, and the garage door hadn't opened since '95. The only way in was through the front door, like a decent human being, or over a rotting, splintery picket fence and through the perpetually-locked back door. Ray had been trapped in the backyard no less than seven times so far.

Ryan had a house - Michael didn't no where, he suspected only Ryan did - that he allocated about half of his time to. Some nights he turned up at eleven just to sleep, then left immediately again in the morning. Probably something about making sure his 3 kids and 2 husbands didn't think he was abandoning them.

Geoff also started renting an apartment downtown, which he dictated, "The Bang Flat" thanks to Gavin. He provided each member of the crew with a key and directions, then told them explicitly that it was fore special alone time, and to never tell Geoff what they did with it, and to always knock before going inside.

This was all to point out the fact that the crew was fucking rolling in cash. It was difficult to get into the swing of things, sure, but more often than not they managed to score their haul in the end. Even if, in Jack's case, it involved speeding off a twenty-foot ramp on a dirt bike, tossing the loot bag into a nearby tree, and breaking his neck on impact. Cops had taken to putting their bodies in lock-up, to no avail.

"Oh, also, we're extra powerful after we regenerate, especially if we're near each other," Ryan informed them,  _after_ Jack had burst a hole in his cell and ignored the rain of bullets on his way out. Medical experts were tentatively calling it a rare disease - but they couldn't do much else, because it wasn't like the crew was volunteering to go in for examination.

The only part that kind of really sucked was that Gavin still didn't talk to Michael.

Michael didn't know what the fuck he had done to make Gavin so hesitant around him, but every time they were in the same room, it was like the walls were on fire and both of them simply refused to acknowledge it. Geoff either noticed every single time, or not at all. Michael was indecisive as to which. Jack certainly knew, though he didn't say anything. Ryan shrugged it off as not-his-business. Ray, however, was Michael's only source of sanity.

"Dude's probably just freaked out," he always said, over heavy amounts of (thankfully video game) gunfire. "It's a lot to take in, being an all-powerful, immortal god. I certainly took it in stride."

"Yeah, but he didn't care at all until the day we fucked up the police station," Michael always replied. "In the car ride up to Vinewood, he just shut off, and he hasn't been the same since. I don't know what the fuck happened."

Today, Ray changed the routine. Instead of clapping a consoling hand on Michael's shoulder and saying, "I don't know, man. Boys are weird," he threw his controlled on the rug and snapped, "Why don't you _ask him_ like a normal fucking human being, then? Christ, Michael, you're my best friend, but you're being a fucking twelve-year-old about this. It's not like you don't live in the same house as the guy. Go knock on his fucking door, tell him why you're upset, then make sweet, gentle, fucking quiet-as-shit make up sex on his bed."

He picked up his controller, replaced the dislocated batteries, and resumed his game.

Michael wanted to argue, but he couldn't deny that a part of him was curious to see if that would work. Plus, Ray was pretty adamantly denying Michael's existence. Not to mention he was a little guilty for having dumped his gay baggage on bachelor Ray so many times. So, only with mild trepidation, Michael picked himself up off the couch, flicked Geoff on the side of the head as he passed through the kitchen, then knocked on the door to the bedroom Gavin was allotted. 

It took a moment before Michael heard fumbling footsteps. The door opened, and Michael was suddenly hit by the painfully endearing sight of Gavin with mussed hair and glasses -  _glasses_. Michael didn't even know Gavin could handle a  _mug_ without breaking it, let alone the fact that he could hide owning  _glasses_ from the rest of the crew.

One part of Michael's head told him to be glad that Gavin at least hadn't been keeping lipstick or new underwear a secret, because at least now Michael was staring at his eyes. The other part could only mumble  _glasses_ in reverence.

Because Michael had glasses, and he understood what it was like to constantly have shit getting in the way of what you needed to see, and how you couldn't just fucking wake up and take a piss without shoving cold-as-fuck metal asshole-specs on your face. Sure, they helped him to see, but at what  _cost_ to his patience?

He was glad for it now, though, because hot  _damn_.  _Glasses_.

"What, Michael?"

Oh, great. He soured the moment by talking. How Gavin of him.

Michael wanted to say something with his trademark brand of wit and snark. He wanted Gavin to understand that he'd been being an asshole to Michael for no reason - at least, no reason that Michael could see ( _GLASSES,_ his brain reminded him). Most of all, he wanted to go back in time and plan out whatever the fuck he had meant to say.

"Hey."

Gavin's eyebrows quirked downward in annoyance. "Hi," he said flatly. "Is this unimportant? I'm busy." He gave a nod toward his bed, where a glowing laptop screen lay in wait for his familiar fingers to return.

"I didn't know you had glasses," Michael said, as if they were having two entirely different conversations. His brain, the part that wasn't screaming about the glasses, screamed at him for being stupid enough to point out the glasses when Gavin had asked him an unrelated question.

Crossing his arms, Gavin stated simply, "They're a recent development. Is there something you need?"

"I - talk. I wanted to talk," Michael finally managed, and he tried not to feel proud of himself for forcing six meager words out of his mouth. With Gavin, anything felt like an accomplishment.

Something like alarm flitted through Gavin's features, catching Michael, who had been lulled into a calm trance of  _glasses_ , off guard. "Not now," Gavin said simply, his voice cracking, and he shut the door in Michael's face. Michael frowned a second too late, like his brain had to take a minute to catch up.

He knocked on the door again.

"I said  _not now_ ," came Gavin's hateful voice from behind the door. Michael stood there a moment longer, but the door didn't open again. Somewhat befuddled, blaming it on the glasses, Michael decided that it was for the best not to push right now - which was strange, considering he was usually the person to press for a result. Something about this felt different, though, like he would only ruin it if he yelled at Gavin now. He severely did not want to make things worse.

Ray was no longer on the couch when Michael came back, which made him think that he would rather take the chance to be locked outside again than deal with Michael's boy troubles - which, two months ago, he wouldn't have even admitted to having.

Geoff trailed in after Michael, holding two beers. Wordlessly, he passed one off to Michael. Michael mechanically took a sip.

"Did I hear a lover's spat just now?" Geoff asked, probably only being delicate for two reasons; one: because he didn't know how bad it was yet, and two: because it concerned Gavin.

Michael sighed. "I think we would have to be lovers for it to be a lover's spat," he said, confused. "In this case, I think it's a 'god likes other god, other god liked god but doesn't anymore, original god weirdly can't get over other god' spat. Unless he didn't like me before, and it was just weird when I kissed him."

"You  _kissed_ him?" Geoff coughed, thumping his chest and trying not to spill beer on his leg. 

"Yeah, like two months ago," Michael said breezily. "Pay attention, Geoff, God."

"Well how do I know if nobody fucking tells me anything?" Geoff demanded.

Michael nodded solemnly. "Right, sorry. Next time I'll just knock on your bedroom door, poke my head in - hey, Geoff, Gavin and I just kissed, just wanted to let you know. Now he won't talk to me for two months, for whatever-the-fuck reason." He took a swig of beer and rolled his eyes.

"You suck," Geoff amended. "But I don't know jack shit about why he wouldn't like you. Remember the day you two met?"

"At Jack's? Yeah."

Geoff continued, "The only reason that fucker was on time, I fucking guarantee you, was because he was into you. I fucking guarantee it."

"He wouldn't show up early if he hadn't met me before, dumbass," Michael told him. Geoff raised an eyebrow.

"I sent him a picture of you," Geoff said, squirming in his seat, and only looking guilty in the sense that he thought it was really fucking funny at the time, but now Michael was going to tear him a new one for it.

And Michael did. "You fucking  _what_? Listen here, asshole-"

Geoff held up both hands and cut him off. "Alright, alright. Invasion of privacy, child pornography, I know the whole deal - the only point I'm trying to make is that I knew Gavin would be into you, and I was right. That kid only wears his sunglasses when he wants to impress someone. Hence, field jobs and heists where he's not staring at that damn screen the whole time."

Michael scoffed. "The point is, he doesn't do that now," he said. "And it's... whatever, you know? It's time for me to get over it, too, is what I'm saying, because it was one kiss two months ago, and I'm not fucking pathetic. I'm Michael Jones, god damn it, I don't pine. Especially when said pining is not reciprocated. So. There."

Just like Michael had done with Gavin, Geoff responded as though they were having two entirely separate conversations. "I'll talk to him."

A beat. Then another, this time where Michael took a small drink. Afterwards,

"Thanks."

"No problem, kiddo."

Christ, he really was being a twelve-year-old about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see ya in a week <3333333333333333


	17. escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen..... its been a really long week.
> 
> {If you, like me, remember nothing about this story and are confused by the sudden notification, here's a quick recap: Everyone is a god, except for the poor civilians that have to deal with a bunch of godly mischief-makers ruining their fair city. Geoff crashed an ambulance, Michael yelled a lot, Gavin wore glasses for some reason, and Ryan shot Michael in the head that one time. (But there's no hard feelings.) Oh, yeah, and Jack's there, I guess. Jeremy isn't, because it's been that long since I looked at this, and it's too late to do anything about that now. Every time someone in the FAHC dies, they come back to life because they're immortal, and whacky shenanigans ensue. Also, sometimes Lindsay talks to them in their dreams, because it's hard to schedule a plane that goes between realms. That jog your memory enough? Cool. Let's keep going then, I guess.}

It was a shame that being a god didn't come with night vision. Superpowers? Sure. Immortality? Not a problem. Seeing something right in front of your face? Nice try, fucker, ask for a different wish. Ray sighed.

He had limited mobility. Like, hardly any. His arms could twitch upwards and to the sides, his body could slide a few inches up and down, but that was about it. It was not the first time Ray had woken up inside a morgue, but it was the first time the small door at his feet had actually been locked. If someone had mistakenly had an autopsy, of course the morgue staff would want them to freely remove themselves from the situation, collect their organs, and go. The dead didn't  _usually_ get up and start walking around, but apparently the Los Santos coroners had learned their lesson.

Ray guessed there would be a police presence outside. Almost definitely SWAT-certified, as anybody working the Fake AH Crew case was now required to be. Which meant goodbye Demarais, hello Special Agent Burns, whose life-motto was apparently, "I don't get paid enough for this bullshit."

Well. There was only one thing to do.

Dive straight in without thinking about the consequences, regardless of whether or not the people around him would get hurt.

Listen, it would be easy enough to lay there on cold metal and formulate a plan, sneak past any guards, and save innocent lives in the process, but fuck that. Ray Narvaez Jr. was a man of action, and action meant looking in what he was pretty sure was the direction of his feet until his heat vision set in and melted the door.  It was still a work-in-progress, getting these newer powers under control, but it wouldn't take him more than a minute or two to free himself. If he wasted all that time coming up with a plan, the coroner could come back, or a guard could check on him, or he could miss the Call of Duty date he had with himself. And he had been planning that date for  _weeks_.

A patch of metal by his feet began to glow red, illuminating his clothing. How had he died again? Oh, right, riddled with bullets by his new SWAT-friends, who were probably building a top-secret FBI holding cell for the Fake AH Crew at this very minute. Ray really needed to stop dying, lest he wake up one day and spend the rest of his immortal days locked up in an impenetrable prison.

 _Come on_ , he thought.  _Don't have time for this shit._

It had become little more than standard routine, really. Like a walk of shame after a one night stand, only the one night stand was dying and the stranger's house you were leaving was sometimes jail.

At last, the door began to goopify. Ray edged himself a little farther, engaged in a silent daring match with himself to turn it up another notch. Another.

He melted through in no time, not a scratch on him.

Ray slid himself out of the chamber, just barely dodging a strand of liquid metal that tried to give him a third eye. There was no guard in the room, but there was the outline of one just outside the door. Ray crouched low, swatting his sweatshirt out of the way, and frowned. The others were always giving him abuse for wearing the same sweatshirt everywhere.

 _“You have another one, idiot!” Geoff would always yell, in that way he did when he got worked up over something that was only important because nothing else important was going on. “That one’s full of bulletholes!”_ _  
_

_Ray always said, “Yeah, so I wear it everywhere because we're always getting shot at, and it doesn’t matter if I get shot again in this one because it’s already ruined.”_ _  
_

_“But you never wear the other one!”_ _  
_

_“Because that one's my good sweatshirt and I don’t want to get it full of bulletholes!”_

Hey, idiot, now was the time to focus. Ray shook himself. He’d need his head completely in the game if he wanted to get out of here in one piece. He crept up directly behind the door.

In one swift motion, he jerked it open, stood up, and roped his elbow around the guard’s neck before the guy had any time to process what was happening.

“Sorry about this,” Ray muttered in his ear. “If you don’t struggle, I’ll only knock you out instead of killing you. It’s a good deal, I’d take it.”

The guard stomped on Ray’s foot, tried to elbow him, but Ray had him trapped rather effortlessly.

“Steel-toed boots,” said Ray. “Nice try, though.”

Ray waited for the guard to pass out, then left him on the floor. He could have killed him, but he was still in a good mood. Or, he was, until the guy’s walkie started yammering. Ray had almost made it unmolested down the hallway.

“ _Delta three, check position, over_ .”

“Ah, fuck,” Ray muttered. He backtracked, cursing fate, and gestured in frustrated confusion to the empty hallway, for the benefit or nobody. The walkie beeped again, the voice on the other end sounding more insistent than before.

“ _Delta three. Check position. Over._ ”

Sighing at a rotten hand, Ray decided to try bluffing his way out of this one before submitting himself to a trial by fire. “Uh, Delta three in position. Over,” he tried, making an annoyed face. Whoever he was talking to totally wouldn’t buy it. Ray hated being alive.

“ _Which position Delta three? Over_ .”

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Ray pressed the button. “Um. _My_ position. Everything’s clear. I’m jerking off, quit bothering me. Over and out.”

He chucked the radio as far down the hallway as he could and bolted. He was a decent shot with a sniper rifle, okay, but he was horseshit at talking under pressure. And he was about to meet a lot more pressure, as well as more SWAT agents. He’d be lucky if he even escaped this place before dying again.

The telltale rumbling of an explosion (when had he learned to know an explosion so well?) shook the building, throwing Ray off-kilter. That was a development. And quite convenient for him, as it made for a lovely distraction. At the top of the staircase directly in front of him, Ray saw the flashes and heard the racket of gunfire. It was not ideal for anyone who was not a god, but for him, it was perfect cover. He darted up the stairs and took shelter behind an abandoned desk. A little ways ahead of him, SWAT cops were in the fight of their life against a heavily armored truck. The wall behind the truck was ancient history, a gaping, smoking hole. Rubble decorated the rest of the room, taking a few cops with it.

Ray rolled up a little closer, ducked behind another desk, nearly skidding on all of the papers that had been blown askew. The document by Ray’s foot, he noticed as an aside, detailed a heist that he, Jack, and Michael had pulled off last week. In Ray’s opinion, the whole thing had been blown entirely out of proportion (which he enjoyed), especially since they’d given the mayor right back—even unharmed, which didn’t happen often.

The only thing missing from the document was any sort of identifying name, apart from Michael’s. Ray and Jack were completely anonymous. Being, well, not from this fucking planet, there weren’t many human records detailing their lives. They were ghosts. Which, for a crime gang, was like being banished to Heaven—was it really that much of a punishment? Plenty of games to play and no fear of authority.  _They_ were authority.

“Hitman!” yelled the unmistakable voice of a certain bad-luck-wielding Brit. Adrenaline hit Ray like an ocean wave descending on him, fully overtaking him. “Get in!”

Ray trusted him. He rolled out onto the battlefield, guided solely by instincts, and vaulted the distance to the van. Gavin waited in the back, holding the door open, waving Ray in. Every other member of the crew provided covering fire as Ray somersaulted into the van. Gavin slammed the door shut, and with a squeal of tires, Ray was being thrown around the back compartment in the best mood of his life. He held his gut and laughed, the echoes of the chaos around them drowning him out; Geoff was screaming just because he could, and Jack was practicing his honed battle cry as he leaned out the window and covered their tail with gunfire.

Ray sat up and asked Gavin, “How the hell—?”

Gavin dangled a stopwatch on the end of a string. “I’ve got it down to a science,” he bragged. “Figured you’d appreciate some help getting outta that one.”

“Okay, but where are—?”

“Ryan’s on the roof across the building and Michael’s in a chopper. They’re gonna wait till things cool down and then meet us back at the safehouse.”

Ray grinned and punched Gavin’s shoulder. “You shitheads are the best,” he said.

“You absolutely would not have gotten out of that clusterfuck if it wasn’t for us, dickhead, so be grateful,” Geoff called back. He swerved the van around a Ford Fiesta, half on the sidewalk, as they rocketed down the road.

“I just said you guys are the best!” yelled Ray. “What more do you want from me?”

“Pick up whatever we order for dinner tonight,” suggested Jack in an offhand comment, still littering the sky with bullets to assist Michael and Ryan.

Geoff latched onto that idea. “Oh, fuck, yeah, that’s a good one.”

“Fuck you guys,” said Ray. “I wish you’d let me rot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no promises, but im gonna TRY, alright. im just gonna keep tap tap tappin on my keyboard and see what shit gets spewed out. how weird was it to read about ray in a fic again. sorry jeremy???? in my defense, it has been a long-ass time and i cant see the future
> 
> is it good that i tried to write again or bad that i updated like once or twice before disappearing again


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look i did it again

"Aim for the cans!" Gavin shrieked, throwing his hands up over his face. Like that would make any difference to Ray's heat vision. It would only mean that Gavin's hands hurt while he was dying, too, instead of just his face. "Just because you've got x-ray powers now doesn't mean you can bang 'em all over the gaff!"

Ray blinked at Gavin. "Did you just call it x-ray vision? It's fucking heat vision, Gavin."

Gavin paused to retrace the conversation in his mind. He couldn't remember which version was true. "Whatever," he decided, brushing it away. "That's what I meant. Whatever it is, it  _hurts_ , and I don't want it anywhere near me."

He pointed again to the line of crushed beer cans, courtesy of Geoff's alcoholism, perched along the top of the fence. " _There's_ your target," he reminded Ray.

Ray shrugged. "Just having a little fun."

"It's not fun!" At least, Gavin's stuttering heart didn't think so.

"Sheesh. Whatever. Move outta the way then."

Gavin backed way off until he was behind Ray, watching over his shoulder. He'd started taking members of the crew out into the backyard individually to help them hone their godly talents, with a different set-up for every ability. Since Ray was practicing his marksmanship skills, it was rudimentary target practice. With Jack, who was having trouble mastering his bouts of extraordinary strength, Gavin was having a slightly more difficult time finding suitable test matter. Already, Jack had proven himself capable of breaking through brick, iron, and cement, with little concentration necessary. It was exhilarating to see, because it was awesome, but also annoying, because it meant more work for Gavin.

"Alright, steady," Gavin instructed. "Lindsay said you gotta wait until it feels solid, like you've got a load of gunk stuck in your eyes."

"I know what she said," Ray muttered testily. "Shut up and let me focus."

Though he wasn't very practiced in it, Gavin shut up. Since Ray hadn't refined his skills with heat vision quite yet, it took him a long time to work up any sort of mental momentum, which was what Gavin found most unbearable about waiting around with nothing to do: not knowing how long he would have to stand quietly in the corner. But, it beat getting a hole lasered into his brain, so he bit his cheek and tried to keep his hands at his sides.

As it tended to do when left without some kind of stimulus, Gavin's mind wandered. He thought back to the handful of conversations he had had with Michael over the past month. He hated being able to count the number of times they'd spoken on his fingers, but he hated the idea of hurting Michael more. Or, the idea of hurting Michael  _more_ , more. It was complicated. He hadn't even tried explaining it to Geoff when he'd come looking to talk about things because Gavin barely understood it himself. So he stayed on the outs with Michael because it was better that way. Because who in their right mind wanted to be involved that way with a force of destruction incarnate?

It wasn't what Ryan had said, about Gavin trailing bad luck like toilet paper stuck to his shoe. It was what Lindsay had said to Gavin, that brief time they'd been alone together. The night the crew had all been arrested in Michael's apartment, then broken out of the police station. Gavin still sometimes felt sore just thinking about that cramped closet he had spent all night in with Michael, but there had been a short stretch of time in the middle where he'd fallen asleep, and Lindsay had dragged Gavin through the dream comm. At that point, Gavin had already remembered loving Michael. He'd remembered it the first day they'd met, after that massive argument where Michael stormed out of the room. Gavin had had the strangest urge to go after him, and just like that, as though something had triggered a memory of a dream he'd had, every scattered thought in Gavin's head fell into place. He understood.

But what Lindsay had told him, the in-depth version of Ryan's flippant comment, was that Gavin would always attract havoc. Wherever he went, chaos and bad luck would always be hot on his heels. There was proof enough in the toilet he'd broken seven different ways since moving into the safehouse.

And that day in the closet was when Gavin had realized something: he was a bomb sight, and up until now he had been permitting Michael to stand at ground zero. For all Gavin knew,  _he_ was the reason the Fake AH Crew had gotten kicked out of their mother realm, his bad luck building up and screwing them all over in one terrific wave. When he imagined someone's life going so horribly wrong, and all of that destructive energy being channeled into  _Michael_...

Well, Gavin was an evil psychopath, but he wasn't heartless. So it was easier, or at least better, to let things lie how they did in the human realm. Separate rooms, separate lives.

"Aw, man! Did you see that? I McFried the shit outta that can!" Ray hooted, pointing at a smoking section of fence. He'd taken off a chunk of the top, but, yes, the can, too.

Gavin snapped out of his reverie and hollered his celebration with Ray. It quickly ended, however, when Ray accidentally fired off a beam into a nearby tree, taking off the branch completely and throwing it several feet. They immediately froze, and Ray muttered, "We were never here."

That sounded like excellent cover to Gavin, who kicked the doorstop out and led the way back inside. Passing by the kitchen, Gavin peeked through the archway and caught half a glance of Michael, who appeared to be making enchiladas. After brief internal deliberation, Gavin let Ray pass and went to grab a beer from the fridge.

He wasn't going to be with Michael, but he could still indulge in small, chance meetings around the house. Besides, Gavin was terrible at following orders, including his own.

Only, Michael was making this completely difficult on both of them by not talking first. But if  _Gavin_ talked first, then he would just look like an asshole who only existed to yank Michael around, which was not true. Or maybe it was, but not on purpose. Gavin  _wanted_ them to be friends (and, yes, he wanted them to be more, too), but he  _didn't_ want Michael to get caught in the blast zone. Finding a healthy medium was hard, though. It was always either one of them was too excited to talk to the other or too mad at them. Gavin didn't have the right kind of brain for this stuff. He understood computers and code, not gross little mingy little feelings. He was practically tiptoeing past Michael to get to the fridge, despite the fact that he was clearly in plain sight.

"Grab me one," said Michael, not turning around, waving a knife noncommittally.

The bottles clinked against each other as Gavin extracted two beers. "Want me to open yours?"

"Yeah."

Wow, thought Gavin. Fucking riveting conversation.

He popped the top off Michael's beer. "Here." He set it at arm's length on the counter. There was an awkward moment where it would have been both appropriate to leave and incredibly awkward. Gavin muddled through it by taking a long drink and leaning his hip against the jut of the island.

"Thanks," said Michael belatedly.

In reply, Gavin made a mumbled noise that even he didn't understand. This was not going well. It felt like the phrase "elephant in the room" had been invented solely for this moment.

"Nice out, innit?"

Michael slammed the knife down. It wasn't  _really_ a slam, but because he was Michael, and since Michael did most things forcefully, the way he sighed out of his nose and flattened the knife between his palm and the counter technically counted as slamming. "Really, asshole?" he demanded, looking scarier than anybody wearing an apron reading "BAKE IT OFF" had any right to. "You couldn't just come in here and leave? You had to see me in here, fucking  _decide_ to enter under the pretense of wanting beer, and then stay to fucking chat about the goddamn weather, of all things. Like we aren't immortal gods banished to a planet full of humans because we were too dangerous to live on our home planet anymore. Surely, a pair of dangerous immortal gods can find something to talk about besides the fuckin' humidity. Or, better yet, you could leave me the hell alone since I'm busy."

Gavin blinked. "You swear a lot."

"Jesus fucking Christ." Michael picked the knife back up and resumed angrily chopping onions.

"Well, it's true," Gavin mumbled. "I don't wanna  _not_ talk."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means," Gavin emphasized, gesticulating wildly, heedless of the precarious liquid sloshing around in his hand, "I don't want us to not be us. I mean, a team. I mean, I want us to be a team, you know? Because heists end up dickishly disastrous when we start screamin' at each other halfway through, or we don't talk to each other at all so we get caught or blown up.  _Part_ of the team is what I want. I want us to not be not part of the whole team."

"English must be your third goddamn language or something," was all Michael said. At that point, the smell of raw onions was starting to get to Gavin, so he made his excuses and fled to his bedroom.

Later, when a knock came on his door, Gavin opened it to Michael shoving a plate of enchiladas at him and retreating back into the living room without a word. Gavin, dumbfounded, stood in the doorway looking at his enchiladas for far too long.


End file.
